


NaNoWriMo 2020

by Purple_Maniac



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:09:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 32,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27327850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purple_Maniac/pseuds/Purple_Maniac
Summary: Welcome to National November Writing Month 2020!Hope everyone who stops by enjoy whatever you read over here!
Relationships: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	1. All It Took Was A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to National November Writing Month 2020!
> 
> Since this is the first year and the first time I’m trying this, let’s break the rules. Let’s not focus on achieving 50,000 words, or even a minimum of 1,667 words a day, but instead, I'm just going to make it a point to write and post something every day for this month. It could be one sentence, one paragraph; just as long as I write something. To make it a little easier for myself, I'm going to use a different prompt each day so that I stay motivated to complete this challenge I've set for myself.
> 
> And as always, enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 01 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write about two people kissing each other without naming a body part.

There had been a long staring contest prior. Actually, it should have instead been called a _glaring_ contest, because, from the way they were squinting at each other, the smouldering intensity of their gazes was enough to light anything within a fifty-mile radius on fire.

This was partly the reason why Brendon was so taken by surprise when Ryan pounced on him, causing them to topple onto the bed, and all he could feel was _hothothot_ and _wetwetwet_. It was Ryan, and really, he shouldn’t even feel like he was being crushed because Ryan was a fucking twig, but he still couldn’t seem to get enough air into him fast enough.

He lets a few Mississippis pass before he starts moving, tentatively, and Ryan slows down his motions to match with Brendon’s pace. Then Ryan shifts and --

Holy shit what the fuck is _that_?

It seems that Ryan has similarly realised what just happened, because, in a series of frantic movements, he pushes himself off of Brendon and somehow manages to vault off the bed like a practised gymnast, looking downright appalled, his clothes dishevelled, and bolts out of the hotel room, slamming the door behind him.

Brendon is paralysed on the exact spot, and the thumping is so loud, and he’s still panting and trying to catch his breath from the activity he had been previously engaged in with Ryan. He swallows thickly, swallows the taste of Ryan and --

Suddenly, he is filled with renewed hope when the truth starts sinking in and he realises that they might have always been on the same page after all.

Without further delay, Brendon kicks himself into motion, scrambling off the bed and dashes out of the room in search of his guitarist, screaming out his name down the deserted hallway, not caring if he disturbed the other guests. Fuck them. Ryan is his priority and always has been. Since the day he joined the band, where they had graciously accepted him into their group and they would spend four days a week down in Spencer’s grandmother’s basement playing shitty Blink-182 covers.

Ryan can’t have gone far. Brendon is determined to find him and clear things up once and for all.


	2. Coffee Would Sound Great If Hearing Were An Option

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 02 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write a story about two strangers interacting while waiting for something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this plot hasn't been overused, though I did try to change it up a little. And don't mind the title, this isn't a sad one, I swear!
> 
> Nevertheless, enjoy!

The moment Ryan pushes the doors open and steps inside the Starbucks he usually frequents, he releases a sigh so loud that causes a few heads to turn in his direction. He ignores them peevishly and unwillingly joins the line. Normally, he would have just given up and went somewhere else to get a cup of coffee, but it’s Jon's shift today and Jon still owes him a drink from their poker game the other night.

He folds his arms and starts tapping his toes while waiting. One, two, three… eight, nine, _ten_ , he counts. He looks over at the counter and watches as Jon takes an order, asks for their name, scribbles it down on the side of the cup, glides to his left to pass it to the barista, glides back again and rings the cash register. The customer moves on to the right, and the line advances a step forward, in which Ryan follows suit. Rinse and repeat. He lets out another long sigh.

Ryan has nothing to do while he waits, so he decides to watch Jon do what he does best. Occasionally, through his bouts of going left and right, Jon wipes the sweat off his brow, albeit with a patient smile permanently plastered on his face. Fortunately, Jon is efficient in doing his job, because Ryan finds himself moving forward slowly but surely. It only takes Jon five minutes to serve three customers, which means that Ryan can snag a cup of free coffee in another ten. As he takes another step forward, Jon looks up and notices him, throwing him a grin and a wave. Ryan lifts two fingers as a greeting, looking amused that Jon is actually happy to see him. He wonders if Jon has forgotten about his end of the bargain already.

Alas, he is one customer away from a much-needed java party in his system. The guy in front of him orders, and Ryan begins to drift off into a daydream. He travels to a fictional place, somewhere deep inside the forest, to a crystal clear lake in the middle of a clearing, and imagines how the birds would sound like there. When he snaps back to reality, the guy in front of him is still… in front of him.

Ryan tosses his head to the right petulantly to peer beyond the guy’s mop of brown hair, only to witness Jon frowning and scratching his head, looking utterly clueless. He is holding onto the menu and pointing to various items questioningly, trying to figure what the customer wants. 

Then Jon meets his eyes, and he watches Jon’s lips as he moves them desperately, “Help, he cannot hear and is trying to speak.”

Jon gives him the saddest puppy look and Ryan rolls his eyes but moves forward to stand beside this guy. This guy who apparently is deaf like he is, but is still attempting to speak.

 _Hi,_ he mouths, and signs a universal ‘hello’, which is essentially a wave.

Ryan chooses to keep his mouth shut and communicates with his hands instead. _Hello, I’m deaf too. If you tell me your order I can help._

The guy looks uncertain at first, but he chances a look over his shoulder and his eyes widen with fear when he catches sight of how many angry faces there are. Obediently, he nods and resigns to pointing to his order on the menu that Jon is still holding. Jon visibly relaxes, and he points to ‘hot’ then ‘cold’, then directs him to the cup sizes. The guy decides on a venti sized hot chocolate, with extra whipped cream, as demonstrated by pointing to the whipped cream and spreading his arms wide exaggeratedly. Jon chuckles and gives him the ‘OK’ sign, keying in his order and then gesturing to the green digital numbers on the screen of the cash register. He fishes out his wallet and pays, takes the receipt that Jon hands him, thanks Jon verbally (Ryan is guessing, but he’s a hundred percent sure he is right), and then grins at Ryan before walking off to the side.

Ryan holds Jon’s gaze, with a look that says ‘pay up, loser’, and Jon smirks and drawls, “Already did.”

When Ryan continues staring dumbly at Jon, he shakes his head and responds with a jerk of his thumb to the guy and gives him a sly wink before moving on to entertain his next patron.

Ryan explicitly shoots daggers at Jon before he goes over to find _the guy._ He’s standing by the counter and every few seconds he’s leaning forward and stealing looks at the barista preparing the drinks, who keeps peeking up at him through his bangs and appears to be growing increasingly distressed. Ryan has a sneaking suspicion that he’s just trying to make sure the barista remembers his heaping order of whipped cream to top off his hot chocolate. Ryan taps him once on the shoulder to get his attention and signs, _hi, can I see your receipt? I think they keyed in my order with yours._

In his head, Ryan thinks, _stupid Jon._

The guy retrieves the receipt from his pocket and gives it a once-over, then his entire face lights up and he signs excitedly, _I didn’t know I got a free drink!_

Ryan takes the paper from him and scans it for himself. As expected, his usual order appears clear as day as the second item below. Stupid, stupid, Jon.

 _Yeah, no, that’s my drink._ The guy only looks at Ryan like he has a third arm protruding from his face, and Ryan realises that, right, he didn’t even order anything, so he explains, _I won a game of poker against the guy working the cash register._

To that, the guy nods in understanding, looking pleased. _Cool, so, what’s your name?_

Before Ryan could move a muscle, the guy has already grabbed hold of his hand and is drawing majuscules onto his palm. He makes out the letters ‘B-R-E-N-D-O-N’, and then Brendon extends his hand out, to which Ryan reaches out to take Brendon’s in his and draws ‘R-Y-A-N’ before dropping his hand.

 _That’s a pretty name,_ Brendon signs and then his cheeks flush pink and bites his lip and looks down at his shoes.

Ryan taps his shoulder twice, and he jerks his head up to look at Ryan timidly. _Sorry, I usually don't think before I sign,_ Brendon winces, but still smiles sheepishly at Ryan.

 _I don’t mind,_ Ryan shrugs. _So what were you thinking, trying to speak when you can’t even hear yourself?_

“I’m practising!” Brendon chirps.

He reads Brendon’s lips, but he knows for a fact that Brendon had verbalized the words because of the scandalous looks people were shooting their way. Even Jon is eyeing them uncomfortably. For once, Ryan is glad he can’t hear.

 _So, anyway, do you come here often?_ Ryan is genuinely curious, since he doesn’t know anyone his age who is in the same plight as he is. The only people he knew who were deaf or had hearing impairments were from his sign language class, and those people were so _old._

 _Well, I definitely haven’t been coming here often enough,_ Brendon guestures with fluid movements, and then he gives him this… this _look_ that has Ryan’s insides melting like cheese. It was his turn now to blush like a twelve-year-old girl, to which Brendon grins triumphantly at his reaction.

The coffee machine begins humming more intensely than what is considered normal, the vibration they felt from leaning against the counter becoming increasingly unsettling that they had to take a few involuntary steps backward. The machine starts propagating steam, and with a final blast of smoke into the air, renders itself useless. Jon clambers over and gives it a few good smacks on the sides with his palms, and dejectedly apologizes to the crowd that it was going to take twice as long to make their coffee now. Ryan glances over at Brendon, and he’s still sporting that dorky grin on his face.

Yeah, Ryan supposes that he doesn’t mind waiting for his coffee, even if it takes forever.


	3. (Almost) Full Moon Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 03 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write a story told entirely through one chase scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has definitely been a fun one for me to write. If you get the references I made in this one, then you are truly a legend. I won't tell you how many there are, but do let me know if you've managed to find them all!
> 
> And as always, enjoy!

Four friends sprint out of the main doors of their high school, blindly cutting through the street, bumping into a few pedestrians, whom they all shrieked in fear and dived into the shops for their own protection. One of the friends, the one with the fangs, still has the courtesy to apologize, before he’s being yanked away by what looks like walking rolls of toilet paper. The hairy one gets down on all fours and bounds away into the night, leading the way. The green one lags slightly behind, his feet too large and clumsy, which he felt like they could fall off at any moment.

The moon isn't quite full tonight, so it came as a not-so-pleasant surprise when the four of them turned right in the middle of the music room while they were practising. With a stroke of luck, their music teacher was one of those madmen who obsessed over ancient folktales told of monsters and cryptids, and he immediately withdraws his pitchfork from the instrument storeroom and lights a torch, bellowing angrily that he was going to kill them. It would have been comical, had it not been their lives at stake.

Every full moon day, the townspeople (well, only the insane ones) came out with their weapons alike to hunt down creatures such as themselves. It was very Victorian-esque; angry mob with pitchforks and torches out monster hunting. They were naive to think that they still had a couple more days, all thanks to one of them trying to outsmart the ‘Monster Day Calendar’, as they conveniently dubbed it. They all blame the skinny one.

Spencer the Werewolf makes a sharp turn into a dark alley, and Brendon-Dracula almost trips over Ryan the Mummy’s frilly appendages. Jon-Frankenstein came an inch away from getting his arm knocked off by the corner of the brick wall.

The wolf darts a quick look over his shoulder, and suddenly comes to a halt. The other three stumbles over him, crashing down onto the cold hard ground. Jon-Frankenstein glares up at Spencer the Werewolf, holding his left arm that has been detached from his body, looking extremely displeased. 

“Ew, why are you so hairy?” Brendon-Dracula spits, trying to get the tufts of wolf shed out of his mouth.

“Hairy? You call _this_ hairy? Do you not _see_ this? It's shedding season and I'm _balding_!” Spencer the Werewolf complains exasperatedly, and then proceeds to violently shake his entire body, unceremoniously covering Brendon-Dracula with a blanket of his fur.

Out in the distance, they hear something, a noise, that is coming closer, and closer. Screams, angry screams, and cursed chanting and then the torches came into view, illuminating the alleyway. The angry mob brandishes their weapons, and they make out the face of their music teacher leading the mass.

Spencer the Werewolf springs into action, taking off once again, Brendon-Dracula and Ryan the Mummy following closely behind, while Jon-Frankenstein hobbles on a half severed foot and cradles his broken-off arm. The furious crowd is rapidly catching up to them, and they are hastily running out of stamina. Eventually, they reach the fence of a miniature golf course, and they hurdled head first over the fence, pulling Jon-Frankenstein and his listless arm along.

They find a golf cart, and clamber in, Ryan the Mummy taking the driver’s seat, while Jon-Frankenstein collapses onto the seat next to him, holding onto his arm protectively. Brendon-Dracula and Spencer the Werewolf are perched behind, facing directly at the danger that is steadily coming their way.

“Step on it, let’s go!”

“They’re coming, they’re coming!”

“Arrggguuuhhh!”

Ryan the Mummy grips onto the wheel and slams his foot down repeatedly on the pedal, but the cart remains stationary. His three friends screech in terror as the hunters make it past the fence and are closing in on them. There’s maybe only less than thirty feet between them and their pointy tools. 

“Ryan!”

“You’re doing it wrong! You’re doing it wrong!”

“Raauugghhh!” 

Ryan the Mummy wails desperately, “THERE'S NOTHING I CAN DO!”

They make the decision to get off the cart too late, because one of the hunters has got a grip of Brendon-Dracula’s cape, and there is no way Ryan the Mummy is leaving him behind. The vampire whimpers, tugging his cape, gravely clawing away, attempting to break loose. The mummy comes to the rescue, but he’s quickly being unwrapped by the many arms that reach out to dismantle him. The miscreation is laying on his side, in at least five separate pieces. He pathetically gurgles out an agonizing, “Aaarrp.”

That’s it, the wolf has had enough.

In a fit of rage, he howls, the sound so deafening, that one by one the masses start dropping like dead flies. He carries on with his almighty call, until the predators have all been subdued.

“Dude, why didn’t you tell us you could do that?” Brendon-Dracula asked, impressed, his grin showing off his abnormally long and sharp canine teeth.

“I didn’t even know I could do that,” Spencer the Werewolf admits.

Ryan the Mummy takes one last glance at the bodies on the floor and says, “Come on, let’s go home.”

The wolf, the vampire, and the mummy each grab as many body parts as they can of their freaky friend, making their way to their safe house, which is just beyond the golf course. They arrive in less than five minutes, the wolf throwing open the door, while the mummy laces his fingers with the vampire and leads them to safety.


	4. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 04 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: As he checks his mail, he notices a letter that makes him stop dead in his tracks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's one is kind of rushed, because I had to work overtime and I'm just so tired. One of my colleagues isn't going to the office tomorrow, and I'll have to cover for him. Not looking forward to the added workload, to be honest.
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy!

He jiggles the key around in the slot, muttering a slurry of curses under his breath. It won’t turn, and he has to remove and reinsert the key a few times before he’s able to get the mailbox open. It’s filled with unopened letters; bills, most likely, overdued and he really could care less. He grabs the whole bunch and slams the little metal door closed, heading for the stairs.

Sighing, he sorts through his mail: bills, bills and more bills. He arrives at his apartment door, the one he’s sharing with Jon, but realises that he forgot the house key. Jon isn’t coming back until the next morning, having been working late nights at the hospital. It's pouring outside, and he's drenched. He lets out a frustrated groan and pulls his hair iratedly. He hates his life.

It’s the little things like that that just keep piling up and driving him in a miff. He trudges back down to the lobby, hoping that the security guard is going to be there to identify him and lend him a spare key, but he highly doubts it. The guard is almost never there. He goes through the last of his mail on the way down, and a letter makes him stop dead in his tracks.

He hasn't seen this address in… _years_. Could it be…?

It’s pristine, and he wonders if it had been delivered by hand this morning. He hooks his thumb under the seal and carefully tears the envelope open. He slides the paper out, and his heart clenches when he notices the all-too-familiar handwriting, the air caught in his throat. His eyes begin following the words decorating the page, albeit without his consent.

_My Dearest Brendon--_

No. He can’t do this. He has to sit down for this. Is he ready to read what the letter says? Will he ever be ready?

He resorts to just sitting on the steps, leaning the entire weight of his upper body against the plaster wall, the dried paint chips adhering onto his damp clothing. He closes his eyes momentarily and tries to calm his breaths. With shaky hands, he lifts the paper up once again and lets his eyes roam free on the page.

Halfway through, tears start rolling down his cheeks. The water drops seep into the paper, smudging the ink where they land. He sniffles, and he thinks back to the day when gay marriage was legalized, which had been the last time he cried. That was five years ago. If only gay marriage had been legalized sooner, if only society had been more accepting of them, then maybe they would still be together now. Brendon allows his mind to believe it just this once, because he’s gotten a letter from Ryan now, hasn’t he? Ryan, who upped and left because he doesn’t want the world to know about their relationship, who wants to keep it a secret and not let anyone know that he swung the other way.

He pinches himself to make sure he’s not dreaming, and he confirms that he isn’t when he hisses at the pain. He takes another shuddering breath and braves through the lower half of the letter. When gets to the final line of the page, he has to wipe fresh tears away with the back of his hand. 

_If you call this number, then I know that you have forgiven me, and I will never leave you alone again._

Somewhere not-so-far away, Spencer is hanging out with Ryan at his house, though Ryan keeps glancing at his phone every five seconds.

“Would you stop that? You’ve been doing that since you’ve dropped off that letter,” Spencer grumbles, reaching out to take the offending object away, but he’s intercepted by Ryan’s much more nimble ones.

Ryan clutches the phone tightly against his chest.

“Do you think he would ever forgive me?” Ryan sighs resignedly, staring longingly at his phone, willing it to ring.

The screen lights up, and the name Ryan’s been waiting for ~~for the past five years~~ all day to call is displayed proudly on the front. The corner of Spencer’s lips quirk up into a knowing smile.

“Yeah, I think he already has.”


	5. Rebellion Has Never Tasted Sweeter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 05 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write a story about a summer afternoon spent in a treehouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only I can take such an innocent prompt and turn it into something... not. It's definitely been a summer afternoon well spent for the boys. *wink wink*
> 
> But anyhow, hope this tickles your fancy, because it certainly tickled mine! Enjoy!

Out of the countless other summer days that he throws a humongous fit, he chooses this one, the hottest day in particular. The bottle smashes onto the ground, glass flying everywhere, the alcohol gets absorbed into the rug. The man’s face is red; red from substance abuse, and the animosity piled on top of it. He’s muttering under his breath, incoherent mumbles, but when he sees his son walking down the steps, he begins raising his voice, calling out to him as a “useless piece of shit”.

Ryan’s nose wrinkles receptively from the revolting smell of booze and cigarettes. He had meant to come down to get a glass of cold orange juice because he was sweltering in the afternoon heat, being cooped up in his room during summer vacation on the hottest day of the year. He observes his father for a moment, and decides against it. The older man carries on screaming and slurring about how everything that had happened had been because of Ryan, how it was all Ryan’s fault and how he wished Ryan had never been born.

But to Ryan, he’s used to all this by now. With a straight face, he gives his old man the finger, and bangs the back door shut on his way out.

He crosses the backyard and climbs up the ladder, two rungs at a time, and easily makes it to the top of his treehouse. There’s only a CD player, a stack of albums, a pen and a notebook, a small cushion and a thick blanket up there. There’s nothing more that he needs in his hideout. Except one last thing. Pulling out his phone, he dials a familiar number. 

“Hey, Ry, what’s up?”

“Hey, B, are you busy right now?”

“No, I was just jerking off thinking about you,” came Brendon’s shrewd reply.

“Of course you are,” Ryan deadpans, and Brendon makes suggestive wet popping sounds with his mouth.

“God, shut up, so fucking immature,” the older boy complains, and Brendon only laughs louder.

“If you’re not busy, could you come over? I’m up in the sanctum,” Ryan says emotionlessly, a simple remark, but it makes Brendon shut up completely.

“Give me ten, I’m on my way.”

Brendon makes it to the sanctuary in five; he’s out of breath and sweaty, but when he leans in to greet Ryan with a kiss, Ryan squeezes him tight. Brendon pulls away to study his face, a silent question as to whether he’s alright. Ryan sends him a genuine smile that says, _yeah, I’m alright now that you’re here._

The first thing they do is put on some music. Today, they settled on _Dookie,_ because Brendon thought it fit the atmosphere perfectly _._ They get comfortable on the floor, using the thick blanket as a makeshift buffer against the hard wooden planks beneath them. Brendon slouches against one of the walls, his legs stretched out, while Ryan rests his head in his lap. Brendon runs his fingers through Ryan’s hair affectionately. They stay like this for a while, just letting the album play out, Brendon occasionally belting out the parts he loves and pretends to hit imaginary drums and strumming air guitar.

 _Pulling Teeth_ comes on, and Brendon casually rips his shirt off because the heat has gotten past being tolerable. Ryan stares up at his naked chest with deep want, feather fingers running up his torso, and up higher to cup his cheek lightly. He gets up and straddles Brendon, gently sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. Brendon grinds up against Ryan’s pelvis, and they moan at the delicious pleasure at their groins.

Brendon whines that it’s too hot, and Ryan concurs, both of them stripping down to just their underwear. They resume their kissing, and Brendon lays Ryan down, rocking his hips to the beat of the song. Ryan glides his hand down to squeeze Brendon’s sweet piece of ass, and Brendon only kisses him harder in return. The song ends, and they break apart, panting slightly. When the next song comes on, their boxers have long been discarded, having moved on to being entwined in a tangle of limbs and saccharine friction.

They jerk each other off. _Basket Case_ plays in the background, but their cries of satisfaction ring louder than the song. Brendon then slides his body down and takes Ryan’s fully hardened cock into his mouth, and _oh, God_ , Ryan almost comes right there and then. Brendon flicks his tongue to the fast tempo of the rhythm guitar lines, and Ryan digs his fingers into Brendon’s scalp in euphoria, his mouth slack.

“ _Fucking hell_ , you fucking piece of shit!” Ryan’s father yells from the kitchen window, where he’s got a direct view up to the treehouse from the wall-less side. Brendon starts to pull away, but Ryan holds his head in place, and he looks up through his lashes in surprise. Ryan smirks, the thought of rebelling against his father in every way he can possibly think of turning him on further. He turns his head to the window and flips his father off, an evil glint in his eyes as he deliberately lifts his butt off the floor, Brendon choking on his dick but enjoying every second of it. His father shields his eyes and walks away in defeat.

Ryan comes a second later, Brendon sucking him dry, then Ryan flips them over and closes his hand around Brendon’s leaking cock, giving it hard and fast strokes. Brendon gasps and comes all over their stomachs, all over Ryan’s hand, and he gleefully licks it off his fingers. The guitar solo that came after the bridge accompanies them back down from their orgasmic high. They share yet another kiss, and curl up against each other’s warm body, the blistering heat long forgotten.

On this hottest summer afternoon of the year, they make an ardent vow -- that once Brendon turns eighteen, they’ll get out of this town. Together.


	6. Freedom Has Never Tasted Sweeter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 06 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write something that either starts or ends with someone asking, “Can you keep a secret?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coincidentally, I saw an opportunity to link today's prompt with yesterday's, so here you have it, a part two!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Can you keep a secret?”

Brendon looks up from his physics lab paper and turns his head towards the owner’s hushed voice. Ryan’s eyes bore into his, deep into his soul, his face an austere portrait. His eyes are imploring to let him spill out this secret he’s keeping all to himself, unable to contain it in him else he explodes. It seems pretty serious, so Brendon puts down his pencil and gives him his undivided attention.

The day before, Ryan sneaks back into the house after a scorching yet sated summer afternoon well spent with Brendon up in his sanctum in the sky. Ryan and his Dad built it together when his mother was still with them. With his mother around, they were the apotheosis of a perfect, happy family. Ryan often drifts back to those days when he didn’t need to grow up and face reality.

When he clicks the back door shut, he tip toes up the stairs, only to be stopped by a heavy hand on his shoulder, forcing him to twist his body around to face the offender. As expected, his father is still drunk; a beer bottle in a loose grip, a newly lit cigarette dangles from his lips. He squints at the younger version of himself, and the younger version glares right back.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing up there?” he spits viciously, shoving the boy backward roughly, and Ryan stumbles, tripping on the steps, a loud crack coming from where his head hit the edge of the step.

Ryan winces from the sharp pain shooting through his skull. He automatically brings a hand to check for blood, and attempts to get up off the floor, only to have a fist come flying toward his face. He barely avoids the contact with wide eyes, scrambling to the side of the stairs. His father lifts the bottle and smashes it against the handrail, tiny pieces of glass raining down onto Ryan’s body. He reacts faster than his father can follow through with his motions; Ryan kicks him straight in the stomach, sending his father’s body flying back and crashing onto the kitchen counter. His spine snaps from the impact, his body slumped against the side of the counter, motionless.

Calmly, he gets up off the ground and slowly walks toward his father. He presses two trembling fingers to the side of his neck to feel his pulse point, but all he apperceives is a lack of movement under cold, damp skin.

“He’s dead, Bren. I  _ killed _ him,” Ryan whispers shrinkingly, and bites down nervously on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“Ry, look, you did it out of self-defense, alright? You’re going to be fine, because the whole town knows how he’s like, especially to you. He’s just a ticking time bomb, waiting to blow up,” Brendon reasons resolutely.

Ryan nods slightly, then reaches out to take Brendon’s hands into his. He gives Brendon a calculated look, and then he says with an air of finality, “Let’s leave this town after class. Let’s never come back.”

Brendon is unsure at first, but Ryan beseeches him, and he doesn’t have the heart to say no. Brendon hums softly in response, brushing his lips against Ryan’s knuckles, an unspoken promise. No matter what happens, they’ll be okay, as long as they’ve got each other.


	7. Returning From A Bad Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 07 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write a story that starts with someone returning from a trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, today's prompt never specified what kind of trip it had to be, so my brain just sort of percieves it this way.
> 
> Just a fair warning, this one is pretty gruesome to digest. I'm not sure how true this is to reality, but this is how I would imagine it to be. I sincerely apologize if this hurts or upsets anyone in any way.
> 
> Still hope you enjoy this one; it's been difficult to write.

He’s standing in the front lounge of the tour bus, watching the series of events unfold before his very eyes. He watches as the bus does a three-sixty flip, tumbling down the side of the cliff. He sees his body being thrown back and forth against the walls of the bus like a game of pinball. Jon comes flying out of his bunk, straight towards him, but Jon just phases right through him. Spencer is in the driver’s seat, or what’s left of it, where the fourty-footer truck had rammed against the metal shell, crushing it like a can of soda would under pressure.

The bus comes to a stop on its four wheels, miraculously, at the bottom of the cliff, smoke rising up from the engine hood, all crumpled up. He saunters further into the bus in search of the last member of their band. He gazes at his own disfigured body, notices how it has been defaced by all the bruising and the glass that cut through fragile skin. He instantly steps over it, crossing an invisible threshold.

He carefully slides the curtain open to reveal the inside of Brendon’s bunk, only to find it empty. There’s no one in the upper bunk above his. The tiny restroom shows no sign of life. The only place left to look is the back lounge, so he makes a beeline for it. When he reaches the front of the closed door, he takes a deep breath, and wishes that his lead singer isn’t in there. He prays that they had forgotten him at their previous venue.

There’s something blocking the door, and he has to use some muscle to push the door open just a crack, just wide enough for him to slip through. That something, as it turns out, is Brendon’s mangled body. It’s bloodied and battered, broken beyond repair. His face is irrecognizable, having been caved in from blunt force trauma. His arms have been fractured, his legs snapped, and considering the awkward angle of his neck, it is definitely not attached to his head anymore.

He collapses down weakly next to Brendon’s ruined body. He sees no point in living anymore, but he doesn’t shed a single tear; his eyes completely dry. Instead, he looks around and finds a large shard of glass, and without hesitation, slits both his wrists with it. He holds it upright on Brendon’s chest, gripping so tightly that it cuts into his palms, fresh blood soaking into the fabric of Brendon’s shirt. Not less than a second later, he forcefully jams him head down, the pointed tip going straight through his iris and into his brain.

He’s back to standing in the front lounge of the tour bus, watching the series of events unfold before his very eyes. He watches, yet again, as the bus does a three-sixty flip, tumbling down the side of the cliff. He sees his body being thrown back and forth against the walls of the bus like a game of pinball. Jon comes flying out of his bunk, straight towards him, but Jon just phases right through him. Spencer is in the driver’s seat, or what’s left of it, where the fourty-footer truck had rammed against the metal shell, crushing it like a can of soda would under pressure.

The bus comes to a stop on its four wheels, miraculously, at the bottom of the cliff, smoke rising up from the engine hood, all crumpled up. He saunters further into the bus in search of the last member of their band. He gazes at his own disfigured body another time, notices how it has been freshly defaced by all the bruising and the glass that cut through fragile skin. He instantly steps over it, crossing an invisible threshold once again.

He carefully slides the curtain open to reveal the inside of Brendon’s bunk, only to find it empty. Similarly, there’s no one in the upper bunk above his. Again, the tiny restroom shows no sign of life. The only place left to look is the back lounge, so he makes a beeline for it. When he reaches the front of the closed door, he takes a deep breath, and wishes that his lead singer isn’t in there. He prays that they had forgotten him at their previous venue.

There’s something blocking the door, and he has to use some muscle to push the door open just a crack, just wide enough for him to slip through. That something, as it turns out, is Brendon’s mangled body. It’s bloodied and battered, broken beyond repair. His face is irrecognizable, having been caved in from blunt force trauma. His arms have been fractured, his legs snapped, and considering the awkward angle of his neck, it is definitely not attached to his head anymore.

He collapses down weakly next to Brendon’s ruined body once more. He sees no point in living anymore, but he doesn’t shed a single tear; his eyes completely dry. Instead, he looks around and finds a large shard of glass, and without hesitation, slits both his wrists with it. He holds it upright on Brendon’s chest, gripping so tightly that it cuts into his palms, fresh blood soaking into the fabric of Brendon’s shirt. Not less than a second later, he forcefully jams him head down, the pointed tip going straight through his iris and into his brain one more time.

He finds himself sitting in the front lounge of the tour bus, watching the non-exisitent events unfold before his very eyes. He watches as the bus doesn’t do a three-sixty flip, and doesn’t tumble down the side of the cliff. His body isn’t being thrown back and forth against the walls of the bus like a game of pinball. Jon doesn’t come flying out of his bunk. Spencer is still in the driver’s seat, but the fourty-footer truck is nowhere to be seen.

He blinks repeatedly, trying to process what had just happened to him. He looks down and sees his physical body, the rising and falling of his chest slowly returning to normal. He turns his head to the right, and Brendon’s panic-strickened faces comes into view. His eyes take awhile to become unclouded, and when they do, he realises that Brendon is crying.

“ _Ryan_ , thank God you're back,” Brendon sobs out in relief, and Ryan feels his body being pulled into a warm embrace.

Ryan closes his eyes and breathes in the comforting smell of Brendon, the familiar scent guiding him home as he returns from the worst trip of his life.


	8. We'll Leave When The Moon Is Full

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 08 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write about some friends hanging out and decide to camp in the backyard during a blackout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw another opportunity to link today's prompt with day three's, so here is the part two continuation of (Almost) Full Moon Day.
> 
> Enjoy!

The cabin in the woods is dark, and at first glance, it would have looked dilapidated. It’s supposed to be deliberate, the only inhabitants locking themselves in the basement, trying to put their friend back together. Jon-Frankenstein is laid out on the workbench in several pieces, his three friends bending over him with a single dirty yellow lightbulb over their heads and attempting to fix him. Or rather, Spencer the Werewolf and Brendon-Dracula are mere observers, while Ryan the Mummy delicately sews Jon-Frankenstein’s limbs back onto his body.

Brendon-Dracula rests his chin in his palms, gazing up at the mummy with nothing but pure admiration in his eyes. The mummy is deep in concentration, looping the thread through one last time, tying the knot and breaking it off with his teeth. Jon-Frankenstein sits up and moves his arm tentatively, testing it out. Brendon-Dracula leaps up and exclaims, “You’re good as new!” and Jon-Frankenstein growls out a thanks.

They plop down on the small couch, but it’s only big enough for a mummy, a werewolf and a green monster, so the vampire settles into his usual spot on the mummy’s lap instead, his legs stretched out over his other two friends’. Spencer the Werewolf flicks the television on and starts browsing through the channels. The reception is shitty, the images hazy with static, but they decide on a Spanish soap opera. Suddenly, the power cuts off and the basement is engulfed in total darkness.

“Um, guys?” Brendon-Dracula’s shaky voice echoes in the dark basement. He clutches tightly onto Ryan the Mummy, burying his face into his neck, and he croaks out a muffled, “I’m scared.”

“You know, for a monster such as yourself, it’s funny how you’re afraid of the dark,” Spencer the Werewolf retorts as a matter-of-factly.

They hear the pout in his voice when he whines, “Shut up, it’s pitch black in here! Go turn the power back on!”

Jon-Frankenstein offers to go to the circuit breaker, which is located on the side of the cabin. Spencer the Werewolf follows him up the creaky, wooden stairs. The cabin is illuminated by only the moonlight coming in through the windows. They know where the flashlights are kept, so they go for that first. The green one had initially wanted to bring an extra flashlight down for his blood-sucking friend, but the wolf grins mischievously and shakes his head. He chuckles at the wolf in amusement. Down in the basement, the mummy has his arms wrapped protectively around the quivering vampire, petting his hair comfortingly. He presses a kiss to the top of his head.

The other two friends make it outside, but the sky is cloudless tonight, and the moonlight is bright enough that they don’t even need the flashlight to see the main distribution board. The wolf uses his grubby fingers to flip the main switch back up, but Jon-Frankenstein doesn’t get any response from the light switch on the porch. They attempt this a few more times, going back and forth, but to no avail. Shrugging, they go back into the cabin and the wolf yells down the steps to the basement to inform the other two, “Hey, guys, the power won’t turn back on!”

The vampire practically dashes up the stairs with the mummy in tow. The four stand in a loosely formed circle, debating what they should do, since they couldn’t go back into town, not after the events that just went down not less than an hour ago. Brendon-Dracula wanders out into the moonlight, soaking it in, and then he comes up with the best idea ever.

“Let’s camp outside tonight!” 

His idea is positively received with nods and “yeahs” (a “gruuaahh” from Jon-Frankenstein). They don’t have the proper supplies, so they grab whatever pillows and blankets they can find, setting up camp in a clearing behind the cabin. All they did was throw some blankets on the ground, and used the pillows to prop up their heads, admiring the moon and the stars up in the clear sky.

Brendon-Dracula shifts to lay his head on Ryan the Mummy’s chest, and for a moment he freaks out when he doesn’t hear a heartbeat. Then he remembers that they  _ both _ wouldn’t have any indication of a heartbeat, not right now anyways, and relaxes, crawling up to place his cold, red lips onto the mummy’s dry ones. The mummy grins up at him and taps his nose once with a bandaged finger affectionately.

The wolf clears his throat loudly and asks, “Sorry to break up the moment, but what are we supposed to do now?”

The dejection is present in his voice, however slight it is, but it’s there. They had just moved here, just gotten to know the town, and now they’re being forced to leave. The green one sighs, and the wolf follows suit. So does the mummy and the vampire. They know what’s coming. 

Once they turned back to being normal people, they would have to take another road trip. The last time they did that was only a year ago, when they had to leave the previous town due to a similar incident. Every month, when the moon is at its roundest, the four of them turn into monsters against their will. They don’t remember when they were cursed; that memory has been wiped clean. All they know is that the best solution was to go into hiding for a couple of days, until they turned back to normal, but the only inconvenience they have is that Brendon-Dracula needs fresh blood to quench his thirst.

They’ve created a fool-proof plan: the wolf uses his impeccable sense of smell to scope out an easy victim, the Frankenstein unleashes his brute strength to knock them out and drag them into the shadows, the mummy uses his appendages to tie them up, blindfold and gag them, and the vampire sinks their teeth into the unlucky victim’s neck.

Brendon-Dracula doesn’t eat to kill; he drank only enough to satisfy his need for blood.

There was one night where they got complacent, and they got found out. One of the shopkeepers, who was taking the trash out, and caught them in the act. They barely escaped, the wolf injured from a bullet that grazed the side of his arm. He’s got a scar to this day that would probably never heal, a battle scar, as they put it.

The next night, the moon will be completely full, and Brendon-Dracula will have to feast again. They know what’s coming, so the mummy concludes on behalf of the group, “We’ll leave after his meal.”

“Can we go somewhere along the coast? It’s been awhile since we’ve gone to the beach,” the vampire muses, and yawns loudly, the mummy playfully jabbing a finger in his mouth and the vampire cheekily chomps down on it, but he pulls it out in time.

“I don’t see why not,” the wolf says, sounding excited at the thought of feeling warm sand between his toes.

The green monster rumbles in agreement, then closes his eyes, exhaustion finally catching up on him. He’s definitely had a long night, plus, not to mention that he had just undergone surgery. The wolf whines out a cute little yawn as well, and turns over on his side and starts to snore softly.

The vampire and the mummy lie in momentary silence, then Brendon-Dracula makes a passing comment, “This would have been the perfect night to do it outside under the stars.” He maneuvers his hips to press up against the mummy’s thighs to make his problem known, and grumbles, “I really wish you weren’t a mummy and I wasn’t a vampire right now.”

Ryan the Mummy looks thoughtfully at him for a moment, then whispers, “I could help you.”

The vampire laughs lightly and shakes his head, and assures the mummy, “Don’t worry, I can wait another night or two. I’ll be fine. Besides, I want us to take our time together.”

The mummy beams fondly at the vampire, and murmurs into his ear, “We’ve had a long night. Let’s go to sleep, my love.”

They share a goodnight kiss, and they rest until the moon goes down and the midday sun graces the clear blue sky. Brendon-Dracula feasts under the glimmer of the full moon that night, and then it’s time for them to go.


	9. Save Me (Or Don't)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 09 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write a story that ends in the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's one comes with a warning: there are mentions of suicide, please read at your own risk.
> 
> I'm not particulary happy with this one, because it was so rushed and incomplete, so I'm definitely coming back to refurnish this one after the month is over. Please ignore all and any mistakes in this one. Oh, and this is supposed to be read backwards, hope it's not that confusing.
> 
> Please enjoy this one.

He goes to the venue early and hides in one of the storage rooms. He’s expecting for a certain someone to come find him after storming off, but nobody does. He makes up his mind, and walks up to the roof in a trance. He sits near the edge, his back against the parapet wall. He loses track of time, and his phone begins to vibrate. It’s not the name he desperately wants to see, so he doesn’t bother picking up.

Countless of names later, his name still doesn’t show up. He’s decided; he stands heavily on his feet, peering down onto the street below. His vision is blurry from his tears, but he doesn’t want to cry anymore. He doesn’t want to feel pain anymore.

There’s nothing left for him here, so he takes a step forward and free-falls down, down, down. Midway, he hears someone screaming out his name, and he realises that he probably shouldn’t have done that, but it’s already too late.

Ryan can’t save him twice.

/

“You’re a burden, Brendon,” Ryan shouts frustratedly. “Why can’t you just understand that this means nothing? That this is just a stupid thing?”

“What-- this-- this isn’t stupid, and this definitely isn’t nothing,” he sputters, and gravely adds, “Don’t tell me that you don’t feel anything at all.”

“I’m sorry that you thought I did,” Ryan scoffs unapologetically.

“Ryan, _please_ ,” Brendon begs, “ _Please_ don’t do this.”

“We are not real, okay? But Keltie, she’s real, and I’m not going to screw it up again,” Ryan barks, shooting Brendon a glare like it had been all his fault.

Brendon chews on his lower lip, chocolate brown eyes imploring into Ryan’s hazel ones, and pleads. Ryan merely rolls his eyes, and states, “I love her, alright? I love Keltie, and not you, Brendon.”

Brendon goes emotionless, and swiftly marches away.

/

They lay in the afterglow, chests heaving. Brendon has a stupid grin on his face, and he turns his head to the left to face Ryan, who’s got his eyes closed, a small smile playing on his lips. They’ve just come down from having climaxed one after another, Brendon’s hand on Ryan’s dick and Brendon’s buried deep inside him. They’re hot and sweaty, the sheets a mess beneath their feet, under the dimmed lights of the hotel room they’re sharing.

Brendon straddles Ryan and wraps his limbs around him like a koala would around an eucalyptus tree. Ryan moans softly at the feel of Brendon’s half-hard dick pressing against his stomach, and Brendon purposefully repositions his ass so that Ryan’s cock is sandwiched between his cheeks. He starts moving, teasing, and Ryan hisses with pleasure.

“Fuck,” he gasps, and flips Brendon over, pinning his wrists above his head. He licks a strip up Brendon’s neck, and they’re ready to go again.

Before Ryan could place his lips on Brendon’s, his phone starts ringing, and Keltie’s face appears on the bright screen. Ryan immediately crawls over to the nightstand to answer the call.

“Hey, Kelts,” Ryan greets with a low voice.

Brendon lies on his back, listening to Ryan conversing with his girlfriend. His eyes sweep over Ryan’s hunched over form, stark naked, speaking quietly into the phone as if he doesn’t want him to hear what he’s saying. The exchange only lasts a few minutes, and Ryan goes back to lying next to him on his belly, propped up by his elbows.

“Keltie’s coming over in an hour,” Ryan says, and then he gets back up to collect his clothes to put them on.

Brendon frowns, and tugs Ryan’s hands away from where he’s zipping up his pants. Ryan turns and walks away, slipping on his shirt. Brendon follows him, and tries again to push away Ryan’s fingers clasping on the buttons, only to have his arms pushed away. He frowns further, the hurt in his voice is clear when he sighs, “But what about me?”

“I don’t know, the night’s still young. You could go out or whatever, give us some privacy,” he shrugs, padding into the bathroom to wash his hands and face.

“What if I don’t want to?” Brendon counters back defiantly, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom haughtily. 

“Brendon, come on,” Ryan groans, his patience is running thin.

“This is my room too,” he argues, hot on Ryan’s trails as he knocks aggressively against Brendon’s shoulder when he passes him as he goes back into the bedroom.

“Fine, you do whatever you want,” Ryan snaps, and glares peevishly at Brendon. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Brendon stomps over to the other bed, the bed that hasn’t been slept on, but Ryan blocks his way and growls, “You are _not_ sleeping in this bed.”

“Fuck off, Ross,” Brendon spits, and attempts to break free from Ryan’s grasps, only to be dragged away to the other bed where they had been using.

“I am not letting you mess things up again,” he seethes, and pushes Brendon back down onto the bed, kissing him roughly. 

He snakes his hand between their bodies, cupping Brendon’s balls, massaging lightly. Still attacking Brendon’s mouth with his own, he strokes the other boy so quickly that it isn’t long till he comes, all over his chest.

“You better be good,” Ryan threatens as he steps away, heading for the bathroom once again.

Brendon lies awake that night, listening to the sounds of Ryan and Keltie fucking in the other room, as he soaks Jon’s pillow with his tears while he silently breaks down.

/

“Brendon? What are you doing here?” Keltie asks slowly, eyeing him suspiciously. 

He’s only in a pair of boxers and he’s got bed hair, looking like he just woke up. His lips are swollen, and he knows this, so he tries to hide them behind the coffee mug, gently blowing on the surface of the hot liquid.

“I needed a place to stay for the night,” he replies casually, then sits down in the living room.

“Well, where did you sleep? There’s only one bedroom,” she says, and when Ryan walks into the room looking the same way his guest did, she finally understands.

“Oh, wow. You guys have been fucking, haven’t you?” she accuses, her face contorted with disgust.

Ryan hurriedly ushers his girlfriend into the kitchen, and Brendon hears hushed voices, making out broken words and phrases like “pity”, “one time thing”, and “meant absolutely nothing”. Brendon glances toward the kitchen, catching in the reflection of the toaster Ryan and Keltie sharing a passionate kiss. He looks away, sipping his coffee quietly.

/

“We must reinvent love,” they harmonise into the shared microphone, beaming at each other, and Brendon has never felt more at home than he does with Ryan.

/

“ _Brendon_ ,” Ryan pleads with extended arms as he inches his way closer to the boy in question. “ _Please_ , come back to me, B.”

Brendon takes a final look down onto the street, then looks over his shoulder at Ryan. He makes his choice.

He steps down from the ledge and crumples to the ground. Ryan catches him into his arms, holding him tight and he doesn’t let go for a long, long time. For the first time in his life, Brendon feels safe and protected, like nothing could ever hurt him again. 

Ryan saved him once that day.


	10. I’m Looking At You And My Heart Loves The View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write a story about someone looking to make amends for a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so technically I wrote around today's prompt, but whatever. I was having a stressful day at work, but I came home to find that my family had written and sent me birthday cards! My birthday is like a week away, but it was still a pleasant surprise and it definitely made the end of my day so much better. I love you and miss you <3
> 
> Alright, enough of my ramblings, hope you guys enjoy this one!

The Puppet struts his way toward the Puppet Master, the words flowing out of his mouth like verbal diarrhea, the singer quickly running out of breath. He inhales loudly into the microphone, and without warning, sinks down on his knees and leans his forehead against the guitarist’s pinstriped pants. This is the first night when the unplanned stage antics began.

After the show, Ryan didn’t seem to care all that about what Brendon did; in fact, no one’s talking about it at all. They get changed in their dressing room, and they’re back on the bus again, off to the next venue. Brendon heads straight for his bunk, and so does Jon and Eric. Spencer was going to follow, but Ryan gives him a look, and he finds himself sitting in the front despite feeling absolutely exhausted. He yawns so hard that he cracks his jaw.

Ryan remains quiet, staring down at his hands clasped together in his lap. He doesn’t actually need to say anything for Spencer to get what he’s thinking, so Spencer merely pats Ryan on the knee affectionately, then gets up to go to sleep in his bunk, which didn’t help at all. Ryan doesn’t sleep well that night, or the subsequent nights that come after. He tries really hard to ignore how Brendon is always coming up to him and pressing his body so close to his. Sometimes Ryan stands still, unmoving except his fingers strumming on his guitar. Other times he backs away, just ever so slightly. He’s starting to get increasingly annoyed the more Brendon touches him, fondles his body right in front of an audience.

The night that Brendon comes close enough to almost kiss him, he snaps. He jerks his body back, and turns away from the Puppet. For the rest of the show, he faces his back to Brendon, and doesn’t bother acknowledging him at all. Once they finish the set, Ryan carelessly throws his guitar on the stage, and storms off backstage.

He’s pissed, because how dare Brendon ruin the show, the show that he worked so hard on to make it perfect. He’d lost sleep over writing the script, planning the aesthetics, and coming up with the characters for each of them. He had let Brendon get away with his games for far too many times. Tonight, he’s going to demand him to stop his nonsense once and for all.

There’s only the two of them in the dressing room when Ryan confronts him. The rest of them have gone outside to meet some fans and get some fresh air. Brendon doesn’t take it seriously at first, of course, despite how livid Ryan is. He still doesn’t understand why he can’t shake things up a bit, and playfully leans in to attempt to kiss Ryan’s frustration away. The older boy has reached his tipping point; he shoves Brendon roughly at the shoulders, and Brendon trips over his feet, a deafening bang filling the room when the back of his head knocks against the coffee table.

Dead silence follows, until Brendon groans out a painful, “ _Ow_.”

His eyes are wet, a natural response if you were to hit your head against something that hard, and he looks up at Ryan with a look of confused hurt and a tad bit of mistrust. He rubs his head and winces, then gets up on his feet and mumbles, “Jeez, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.” and then he’s out the door.

Ryan releases out the breath he doesn’t even realise he’s holding, and then buries his head in his hands. When he sees Brendon again, they’re getting on the bus that night, but Brendon doesn’t look at him; he just goes directly into his bunk, adamantly keeping his eyes on the ground. Ryan wants to apologize, but he doesn’t know how. There goes another sleepless night for Ryan.

Spencer finds out about Brendon’s injury the next day, when Brendon experiences vertigo in the middle of the 7-11 while they refill on sweets and snacks. He topples against Spencer, and Spencer helps him sit down on the floor, alarmed. He didn’t mean to tell Spencer the truth, but the room is spinning and he feels like he’s about to throw up, and he doesn’t have the mental strength to come up with a clever lie to brush it off as nothing. Furiously, Spencer marches back onto the bus, while Jon carefully helps Brendon back on his feet to go back on the bus so that they can get him to the nearest hospital. 

“George Ryan Ross The Third,” Spencer shouts angrily, “You better start explaining yourself.”

Ryan turns his head from the window to spot a seething Spencer, and swallows hard. He scratches the corner of his nose tentatively, eyeing Spencer and the way he’s fuming right now. Spencer sits down forcefully next to him and grits out, “Why the fuck did you have to push him so hard? If he landed in a position much worse than that, he could have _died,_ Ryan.”

His heart starts racing when he realises that, yes, he could have killed Brendon, and he feels sick in the stomach. Jon takes this moment to lug Brendon up the bus, and Spencer rushes over to help. They sit Brendon upright, directly opposite Ryan, where his eyelids are half shut and he has a hand over his mouth, trying not to puke. Jon pulls out of the parking lot and speeds to the nearest hospital, with Spencer navigating.

Along the way, Ryan observes Brendon for an extended amount of time, before he manages to squeak out a barely audible, “I’m really sorry.”

Brendon cracks an eye open and whispers against his palm, “It’s fine. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Ryan changes spots to move to sit next to Brendon, sliding an arm around his waist. Brendon looks at him, surprised, but Ryan keeps his hands there until Brendon closes his eyes once more. Ryan rubs his back soothingly, and offers to accompany Brendon into the hospital. When they come out a few hours later, his vertiigo is gone, he’s snacking on a Milky Way chocolate bar, and he’s in a much lighter mood.

Brendon rests in the front lounge, eyes shut and lips slightly agape. Ryan takes in the sight before him, and he realises that his heart loves the view. Now, he doesn’t know why he would ever want Brendon to stop his stage antics, doesn’t understand why he got so mad over a stupid almost-kiss. He quietly leans forward over the table, and puts his lips on Brendon’s. Brendon’s eyes fly open, but neither move away. Ryan darts a tongue out to graze Brendon’s bottom lip, then pulls it gently between his lips.

They start making out, but not for long, because they hear Spencer scoff and say, “About fucking time.”

Ryan pulls back and gazes at Brendon, asking earnestly, “Will you forgive me for what I did to you?”

Brendon appears to be deep in thought, and wonders out loud, “How will you make it up to me then?”

With a slight upward quirk to his lips, Ryan takes Brendon’s hand, and guides him into the bunks.


	11. Somewhere Out There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write something that begins and ends with someone looking up at the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half inspired by the song under the same name from An American Tail, and a certain theory.
> 
> This is the prologue to something bigger, can you guess what it is?

_Somewhere out there, beneath the pale moonlight, someone’s thinking of him, and loving him tonight._

He’s gazing out the window, high up on the twenty-third floor, admiring the very few scattering of stars in the sky. It’s getting late, and the party is probably already halfway, or almost over. He knows that someone’s thinking of him, because he gets a text that reads, _I wish I was with you instead <3 _

The grin he has on his face is so wide that Jon and Spencer are surprised his face doesn’t split right open there and then. They’re playing Texas Hold’em in Jon’s hotel room, except Brendon isn’t focused on the game at all, or the last few games they’ve played for that matter. He’s distracted by a certain someone he’s longing to see, typing and sending a message back to him saying, _Then come and be with me, only a few hours left. I’ll be waiting <3 _

“Brendon, would it kill you to put that thing away?” Spencer grumbles, but he’s already in a pissy mood before stepping on the plane.

They’re due for a couple of interviews the following day, and then a show the night after. However, that isn’t what he’s annoyed about. He thinks he can speak on behalf of Brendon when he says that it’s not fair for Ryan to be celebrating his twenty-first birthday at an age restricted club. Spencer’s Ryan’s best friend since they were eight; he’s chafed that he doesn’t get to celebrate official adulthood with his longtime friend and brother.

Jon makes an indifferent sound. He’s the oldest in the band, and yet he wasn’t even invited. He presses his lips in a thin line and just shrugs, “Ryan’s always been Pete’s favourite, I guess.”

Brendon finally pries his eyes away from his phone, throwing it away on the bed. He sighs, and speculates, “Do you think maybe Keltie’s behind this?”

The other two give him confused yet curious looks, and Brendon says conspiratorially, “It’s a known fact that Keltie’s jealous Ryan spends so much time with us than her, right? I’m thinking she blackmailed Pete to throw Ryan a birthday party at Angels & Kings. That way, you and I,” he motions to Spencer and himself, “can’t even get in, and then he could just pretend to forget to invite Jon. What do you think?”

“Plausible,” Spencer hums in agreement after giving it some thought.

“Yeah, but still, it’s kind of shitty of Pete to agree to it in the first place,” Jon carps, admitting that he does in fact feel unwarranted that he couldn’t go to his friend’s party.

“That’s why it’s called blackmail, Jon,” Spencer deadpans, giving him a pointed look.

“I wonder if he’s really having fun without us,” Brendon muses, leaning back against his hands stretched out behind him and tilting his head to one side.

“Oh, he definitely is. I heard Pete and Keltie went all out for Ryan’s birthday,” Jon confirms, and explains that he heard about it from hanging out with Tom the other day.

“Man, I bet he’s getting laid tonight, for sure,” Spencer says begrudgingly.

“You could go out tonight,” Jon suggests.

“Hey, I’m a filial guy. My heart belongs to Hayley,” he declares, placing a hand on his chest, over his heart.

“Yeah, and my heart belongs to Cassie.”

 _And my heart belongs to Ryan_ , Brendon adds, although silently in his head. He tips his head back, angling towards the window, and starts to count the sprinkling of stars, starting over again and again on the same handful of them. He sighs out softly, earnestly wishing that he can soon be with Ryan before the night is over.

_ Somewhere out there, if love can see them through, then they'll be together somewhere out there, out where dreams come true. _


	12. You Could Learn A Thing Or Two About Being Punctual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write about a relationship where one is always late, and the other is constantly kept waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one today, hope you guys are having a better week than I am.
> 
> Nevertheless, enjoy this one!

Brendon’s late. 

Ryan’s been sitting at the same booth table waiting for Brendon to show up for almost two hours now. They had agreed to meet at their local coffee shop after school, but he’s nowhere to be seen, and not heard from. Ryan sulks, head buried in his book, but he’s not focusing on the pages. He makes it a point to glare menacingly at anyone who turns and stares at him where he’s all alone. All the ice in his coffee has long since melted away, the condensation creating a growing puddle on the surface. Ryan dips his fingers in and swirls it around a little, dragging it away from the pool and drawing spirals with it. The water has a mind of its own; it goes a bit too far, and the corner of his paper soaks up the liquid. He exhales loudly, grabbing a few napkins and throwing them on the mess he’s created.

This isn’t the first time Brendon’s late, and he knows it definitely won’t be the last. Speak of the devil, he finally comes through the double doors of the coffee shop, eyes sweeping the store before they land on Ryan, and he bounces over, a carefree smile on his face. He flings his bag to the inner end of the booth seat and sits heavily down, and greets his boyfriend casually, “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Ryan doesn’t think he’s remotely sorry at all. He keeps a straight face, ignoring him, and continues to pretend reading his book, using it as a shield to cover his face. Brendon leans over the table to put his chin on the spine of the book, and pouts, “Hey, look at me.”

He forcefully pulls the book away, causing Brendon’s head to fall forward, smirking slightly when Brendon hits his nose on the thick pages. He scrunches his face and moves back, frowning at Ryan. Reaching out and grabbing the book to reveal Ryan’s face, he whines, “Hey, talk to me, Ry.”

Ryan lets go of the book and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, giving him a blank look. Brendon closes the book and puts it aside, then extends his hand to take hold of Ryan’s, which he manages to free from being tucked under his elbow, and cradles it with both of his hands. He glances at Brendon, then down at their hands, then back up at Brendon again, before sounding off the fact that Brendon is never punctual for any of their dates.

“I’m really sorry, I lost track of time; I was jamming with Jon after practice. I meant to call, but I guess I forgot,” Brendon explains, scratching the side of his head sheepishly.

“Yeah, you’re nothing but excuses, Brendon,” Ryan snaps, snatching his hand away, and folding his arms again.

“I’m _really_ sorry,” Brendon tries again, sincerity clear in his eyes, but Ryan carries on ranting.

“It’s always, _‘oh, sorry, I lost track of time’_ , or _‘oh, sorry, I had something urgent’_ , or _‘oh, sorry, practice got delayed’._ I’m sick of it, Bren. I’m sick of you always standing me up,” Ryan vents, steadily raising his voice. He pauses, and then denotes, “Until you learn to be punctual, I’m not meeting you after school again.”

“But-- but how will you know if I’m punctual or not if we don’t meet?” Brendon wails, rising up from his seat and going over to squeeze in next to Ryan so that they’re now shoulder to shoulder, knees to knees. Ryan consciously moves away, but Brendon only slides closer, until Ryan’s huddled against the wall, trapped in between. Brendon brings Ryan’s hand to his lap and laces their hands together, resting his cheek on Ryan’s shoulder and begs, “Please, Ry, just one more chance and I’ll prove you wrong.”

“And what if I’m right?”

“Then you get to punish me,” Brendon replies simply.

Ryan hums in thoughtful consideration. Brendon kisses the back of Ryan’s hand, and gazes up at him with his best puppy dog eyes, jutting his lower lip out adorably. With Brendon looking like that, Ryan can’t stay mad at him for long, so he turns his head to give a quick peck on Brendon’s mouth, and murmurs in his hair decidedly, “Fine, but if you’re late tomorrow, you’re going to pay for it.”

His voice has a hint of playfulness, and Brendon’s eyes shine when they peer into Ryan’s, the latter regarding the former with an inane expression, giving nothing away. Brendon cracks a knowing smile, and purrs, “Hmm, but wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?”

“Fine, then if you’re late, I _won’t_ punish you. Deal?” Ryan puts forward, and Brendon nods vehemently against his shoulder. 

  
Just wait till Ryan sees that he’s going to be _so early_ for their date tomorrow.


	13. Do You Believe In Magic?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write about an established group of people welcoming (or not) a new face into their midst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally fell asleep while writing this, which is why it's posted a day late. I had to go to site and when I got back it's already super late and I just KO-ed on the sofa. It's a short one, but I think I want to continue with this verse and make it into a longer one, perhaps some time in the near future!
> 
> Please excuse the mistakes in this one, and I hope you enjoy!

A palm comes slamming down on his desk, and he jolts up in surprise, his pencil flying out of his grip in the process. His eyes are met with sharp chocolate ones, the owner working his jaw. The taller boy sneers at the smaller looking boy in the chair, towering over him and giving him a once over, snarling, “You’re in my seat, loser.”

It came as an affront to the boy in the chair, being called a “loser”. He keeps a straight face, and calmly points out, “I don’t see your name anywhere.”

That only made him glare down at Brendon harder. There’s a wisp of blue and green smoke that creeps up right next to the boy’s face, and he jerks his head away, as if pushed by an invisible force. But Brendon knows the apparration when he sees one. Someone has just used magic to flick the bully’s ear. Brendon swallows down a laugh.

Another boy, an even lankier one, appears behind the first, putting a firm hand on his shoulder and drawls out cooly, “Go sit behind, Gabe.”

The bully, Gabe, creases his brows and visibly slumps his shoulders in defeat, walking away, muttering bitterly. Brendon watches him as he takes a seat at the desk behind his own before turning back to face the other boy. His face is round, framed by dark brown hair that’s a little too long, sticking out at the ends. He holds his gaze and Brendon stares back, transfixed. He hears another voice saying something on his right, feels someone sit down next to him, but he’s too focused on how the hazel in the boy’s eyes dance with the same bluish-green glow to notice. With a flick of his finger, the person next to has similarly gone to sit behind.

Satisfied with the arrangement, he crosses over to the right of the desk from the front, Brendon following his every move. The classroom is getting increasingly crowded now, the seats filling up fast. The boy takes a seat next to him and remarks, “I hope Gabe didn’t scare you.”

Brendon’s response is automatic when he says, “Bullies don’t scare me.”

“Hey! I’m no bully!” Gabe counters, crossing his arms childishly. The boy beside him reaches out to pet his hair, to which Gabe attempts not to crack a smile.

Brendon’s met with an outstretched hand, and the owner introduces himself, “I’m Ryan, what’s your name?”

He extends his arm but when they’re about an inch away from touching, there’s a tiny bit of static that sparks between them. It’s naked to the human eye, but both boys see the aftermath, a small cloud of rainbow colours starts rising up from their hands between them. Ryan looks just as surprised as he is, but he completes the act anyway, giving it an uncertain shake. 

“I- I’m, uh, I’m Brendon,” he stutters at the colourful smoke, clearing his throat loudly after. Ryan retracts his hand and closes his palm into a light fist. Brendon sees the unanswered questions in his beautiful eyes.

Four other boys come up to stand by their tables, essentially making them seem like a posse composed of eight people. Brendon quickly realises that they are in fact a group of friends, welcoming him in. He learns their names: Gabe, then William’s the one sitting next to him, there’s Jon, Spencer, Pete, Patrick, and of course, Ryan.

Gabe apologises for his behavior, although only after Ryan uses a little help from the supernatural. Brendon just shrugs and says, “No big deal, I’m kind of used to it by now.”

It came out making him sound pathetic, so he just turns back to his notebook and continues writing in it. Ryan raises his brows at Gabe. Gabe merely lifts his shoulder and opens his palms in an exaggerated shrug, and picks his conversation with William back up. Ryan promptly goes back to focus on Brendon, finding him scribbling words onto the page that look nothing like English.

A wave of realisation hits him and he bends down next to Brendon’s ear to whisper, “Are you a wizard too?”

Brendon nods, continues writing, looking unfazed. He finishes up a line, and glances up to see Ryan gaping at him. He frowns, and asks in confusion, “Wait, aren’t we like, supposed to be the more superior ones here or some shit? I thought most people could do magic.”

Alarmed, Ryan shushes him, eyes darting around the room in paranoia. Brendon blinks at him, stupefied, and Ryan lowers his voice to disclose quietly, “It’s just you and me here, judging by our interactions just now.”

Brendon only bites his lips and nods, and Ryan warns, “Be careful if you’re going to use magic, this town is different from the rest of the world. There are certain… rules here.”

He nods again, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. Ryan smiles lopsidedly and says, “Join us for lunch, and then we’ll tell you all of the stories.”

Brendon beams appreciatively, and looks around to make sure no one notices before he manifests a white daisy flower in his palms and places it in front of a grinning Ryan.


	14. Oh, Such Torturous Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write a story about an argument that seems to be about one thing, but is actually about another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops so this is late again. Title stolen from a P!ATD song, but I'm sure you already know.
> 
> This prompt has been quite challenging to write; I was staring at it for the longest time, not knowing how to approach it, and then well, my mind turned it into something else. Just see for yourself and let me know if I successfully tackled the prompt?
> 
> As always, enjoy!

The van is parked along the side of the road, in the dead of the night. It’s pitched black, save for the headlights. There are no other cars travelling on the same route; they haven’t seen another soul for the last couple of hours. The engine has long been switched off, and apart from the whooshing of the night desert winds, there was no other sound to be heard.

Four men stand before the van, the light shining at knee height, illuminating their bodies. They stay a few feet apart from one another, not too close, but not too far. Their mist from their warm breaths rise up to mix together in a swirl, before disappearing into the night sky. The expanse of blackness looks almost too surreal; it’s a new moon night and there’s not a single star in the sky.

The youngest of the group is the first to break the silence, asking impatiently, “So, what are we going to do now?”

He’s pissed; well, actually they’re all pissed. The van has broken down, and they’re miles away from society. Ryan, who had spent most of his childhood fixing cars with his dad, had already popped off the hood to check the damage, but there’s nothing else he could do. Their mobiles have no signal, and they’re utterly stranded. Their only hope is a passing car, but even that didn’t seem likely at all.

“I don’t know, why did we even agree to do this in the first place?” Brendon sighs, carding his fingers through his greasy hair.

“Hey, we didn’t _ask_ you to join us, you wanted to tag along,” Jon points out frustratedly, as if everything happening was because of Brendon’s fault.

“Look, I was the one who brought him along, so drop it,” Ryan snaps, glaring at the other two while he moves over to stand beside Brendon, putting an arm around his shoulder.

Jon exhales loudly and looks away. Spencer rolls his eyes and averts his gaze to the side. Brendon works his jaw and barks angrily, a retort to Spencer’s previous question, “Why don’t you guys think of something instead of standing around? Ryan has tried to fix the engine, and I tried hot wiring it, but what are you two good for?”

The two of them squint their eyes at the guy who claims to be a valuable asset, when he’s obviously the liability here. Jon takes calculated steps toward Brendon, and Brendon puffs out his chest to show that he’s not afraid, but Ryan glides in front of him. He and Jon are face to face, mere inches apart, both exuding hatred; Jon’s hatred is toward Brendon, Ryan’s is toward Jon and Spencer, for their despicable behaviour. They have been doing nothing but goading Brendon since they started this undertaking.

“Don’t you forget why we’re doing this in the first place, Walker,” Ryan hisses, jabbing a finger at Jon’s chest rigidly. “It’s _your_ problem we’re trying to fix here.”

Jon has the courtesy to look guilty, and he unwillingly takes a step back. His features grow softer, and he mumbles, “I’m sorry I got you guys into this mess. I shouldn’t have asked anyone to come along. This was _my_ problem, and mine alone. _I_ should be the one to make things right.”

Spencer reaches out to place a firm hand on Jon’s shoulder, squeezing once. With a small but empty smile, he tells him, “It’s too late now, isn’t it?”

There’s something about Spencer’s choice of words that makes Jon flare up again. He remembers something that happened from the night’s endeavor, and frowns deeply. He whips his head back to Brendon, and with an extended finger, he yells, “This is all your fault!”

Brendon’s about to make a comeback, but Ryan’s quick to defend him. “Yes, he did miss his mark, but the point is, we got away safely. End of story,” he punctuates the words of his last sentence, lifting his arms up and quickly moving them apart, signalling that they were done discussing this.

Unfortunately though, Jon doesn’t back down, and continues viciously, “We all know how he is with his ADHD, why did you even let him come along? He almost ruined it.”

“Yeah, if we just so desperately needed this to be a four person job, we could have just gotten Dan, or even Kyle to help us,” Spencer elaborates from Jon’s previous statement, and suddenly something clicks for Ryan.

He barks out a short, humourless laugh. “This is about me letting Brendon join the band, isn’t it?”

Jon and Spencer glance uneasily at each other, confirming Ryan’s suspicions. He scoffs, nodding his head slowly, finally understanding what tonight’s whole deal is about. It didn’t matter if they had failed or succeeded in helping Jon get out of his debt with his drug dealer, it didn’t matter whose fault it had been about the things that went wrong in their mission; they simply wanted Brendon out.

Ryan has seen the looks they give toward their lead singer to know that it didn’t just stop there. These guys, they’re homophobes, and they hate that Brendon is always glued to Ryan’s side, always touching and always following him wherever he goes. Ryan doesn’t mind; Brendon is his boyfriend after all. But for Jon and Spencer, they hate seeing the public display of affections. Ryan knows it’s only aimed toward Brendon, because Ryan’s the one who got them a record deal; he’s untouchable. Ryan’s known Jon and Spencer for a long time, and he’s got far too much dirt on them that they wouldn’t even think about crossing the line with him. Since the beginning, it had always been the three of them, until Brendon came into the picture.

Ryan deliberately cups Brendon’s face and kisses him, sliding his tongue into his mouth and eliciting a moan from Brendon. As expected, the other two turn away from the scene. Ryan pulls back, and smirks, declaring with an air of finality, “Bren’s here to stay, so you two better suck it up and play nice.”

Spencer has the guts to defy him, saying, “Well, what if we don’t want to?”

Ryan’s quick to think on his toes, and with a feigned apologetic look on his face, he simpers, “Then you leave me with no choice.”

He hastily rips Brendon’s shirt off. None of them were expecting this -- Jon and Spencer throw their heads away, while Brendon gapes at Ryan with wide eyes. They join with a sloppy kiss, and in the cold night, Brendon’s exposed nipples have hardened with a gust of wind, and Ryan moves his fingers to pinch them lightly. Brendon makes a pleased sound, and the other two men shuffle their feet uncomfortably.

Ryan tears his own shirt away, and goes on to undo Brendon’s belt and the zipper of his jeans, and tugs them down with his boxers. Brendon’s cock stands hard and proud, the tip pressing against Ryan’s bare stomach, already leaking with pre-cum. Brendon has no sense of shame; he wouldn’t think twice about fucking in front of other people, and Ryan’s starting to think that this trait is contagious.

But Spencer is already pleading for them to stop, that he and Jon promise that they wouldn’t say anything about this ever again, _just please just stop_ , they’re already terribly sorry for all the things they said and did. Ryan wasn’t having any of it; you can’t take back any of your words once you’ve said them.

“Too late,” Ryan shrugs, and pushes Brendon by the shoulders to lean him against the hood of the van, and Brendon sucks in a breath at the contact of his ass against the metal, because it’s so cold. 

Jon and Spencer practically jogged as far as they could away from the van, yet still near enough for the dim headlights to reach them. Ryan closes his hand around Brendon’s dick and starts pumping his fist. Brendon mewls out in pleasure at first, but Ryan whispers in his ear mischievously, “Louder.”

Brendon reaches his arms forward to remove the material that’s constricting Ryan’s cock, and it springs out of his pants, freed from its cage at last. He nibbles on Ryan’s earlobe and states, “Then I want you to fuck me.”

More blood rushes to his nether region, and he wastes no time prepping Brendon to receive his cock. The younger boy purposefully whines out for more. He doesn’t have to be too loud in order for the other two to hear his cries of pleasure from all the way over there in this quiet desert. Brendon peeks over Ryan’s body and chuckles evilly. Ryan tosses his head over his shoulder, and joins in with Brendon’s laughter. Jon and Spencer have taken to pressing their palms flat against their ears.

Brendon screams out for every time that Ryan thrusts into him, loud and demanding, making damn sure that Jon and Spencer hears Ryan fucking his brains out. For their big finish, both of them growl out in unison, sonorous and well drawn out. Ryan unplugs himself from Brendon, and bends down to lick his stomach clean, lapping up every single drop of cum. He swirls his tongue at the tip of Brendon’s softening cock, and takes it entirely into his mouth, working some magic with his tongue. Just like that, Brendon is hard again.

His ass is leaking Ryan’s cum, and Ryan uses his load as lubricant to easily slide his finger into the depths, while he gives Brendon a blowjob. He lays wanton against the shell of the van, chest rising up and down rapidly, getting increasingly close to his second release. He grips onto Ryan’s hairs, and Ryan groans, taking Brendon deeper into his mouth. Similarly, Brendon expresses his satisfaction with stentorian moans, and when he comes a second time, he whimpers out a series of ‘ahs’ and incoherent mumblings.

Ryan lays above Brendon, their bodies flushed, grinning at each other with a glint of playfulness in their eyes. The older boy runs his fingers through Brendon’s hairs, and brings his mouth down to meet with him, sharing a slow and passionate kiss.

They take turns going in to peck the other’s lips languidly as they get dressed, then stroll hand in and hand to where Jon and Spencer are, their backs to them, elbows in the air, still trying to block out the sound. Ryan kicks his shoe against Spencer’s lightly, causing them both to turn around and visibly blanch even further at their well-fucked appearances. Ryan stares determinedly at the two, already proven his point; Jon and Spencer are really left with no other options but to accept their new reality. 

The four retreat back to the van, and huddle up inside, but keeping the windows down and the door slightly opened. Ryan and Brendon snuggled up at one side, keeping things relatively PG-13 for the sake of Jon and Spencer; they silently agreed that it had been enough trauma for the both of them for one night. Tonight they will rest, and they’ll leave their worries for the next day.


	15. Drum To The Beat Of My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 15 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write about someone struggling to learn a skill that in no way comes naturally to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm late again, come at me. Also, I think I might have butchered this prompt.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

“Can you teach me to play the drums?” Ryan asks, standing before Spencer, who had just sat down on the stool and retrieved his drumsticks from the ground.

“Uh, haven’t we been down that road before?” Spencer asks slowly, patiently waiting for his best friend to remember what happened ten years ago.

“We were kids,” Ryan waves a hand dismissively. “Besides, I think I’ll be amazing at it now.”

Spencer stares at him in disbelief. Ryan pouts, begging him with his eyes, and Spencer groans, “I swear to God, if this is to impress Brendon--” 

“It’s not!” he exclaims a little too quickly, whipping his head around to check that there’s no one in the premises but the two of them. Spencer shakes his head and sighs, but he gives his drumsticks a little twirl before he starts to play a slow beat of four counts, and at the same time explaining how it’s done. After a short demonstration, he rises from the seat, handing the drumsticks over to Ryan. “Okay, now you try.”

Ryan takes a seat and tests out the pedal, the cymbals and the skins; it almost feels like he’s brought back ten years into the past. Spencer motions for him to begin, and he does. Unfortunately, the sound that comes out is atrocious. There’s no rhythm, and it just sounds like someone is randomly hitting things. Which is exactly what Ryan is currently doing.

“Oh, my God, I think our drummer is broken -- Oh.”

Brendon is standing by the door of the music room, blinking his eyes, trying to process the scene in front of him. Jon is behind him, surprise decorating his features, as he too takes in the sight of Ryan playing the drums. _Ryan_ . Playing the _drums_.

Brendon traipses over, Jon in tow, and the moment they come into Ryan’s peripheral vision, he pretends to know what he was doing all along, and gives a single tap to every surface starting from left to right, and back again. Brendon eyes him sceptically, and asks, “Has this got anything to do with the fact that I said you had no sense of coordination?”

Ryan chuckles nervously, and just shrugs, “No, I just thought I’d try something new, you know? It’s never too late to learn a new skill.”

He nods slowly, turning to look at Spencer, and Spencer shrugs just the samel. Jon encourages Ryan to play a simple beat. Spencer goes over to show him once more, and then all the spotlight is on Ryan again. He takes a breath and plays. The other three cringe involuntarily.

It’s going to take a miracle and a half for Ryan to acquire drumming as part of his skillset.

He doesn’t give up though. Brendon catches him “practising” on the drums one day, but he could tell he’s growing increasingly frustrated that his labour bore no fruits. He still sounds just as terrible as he did a couple weeks ago. He groans, and throws the sticks onto the ground, banging the drum with his fist to let out his anger.

“Hey,” Brendon greets, walking over to him, and Ryan sighs.

“I don’t have an ounce of coordination in me,” he admits, referring to Brendon’s previous remark, looking down sadly.

"If you really wanna learn how to play the drums… here, let me show you," Brendon decides, and then grabs another stool to sit behind Ryan.

Ryan freezes up, not even daring to take a breath, and he feels Brendon's chest pressed up against his back before he's being passed the drumsticks and he grips them so tight his knuckles are turning white. Brendon hooks his chin on his left shoulder and murmurs beside his ear, "Relax."

Brendon's palms cover over Ryan's and adjusts his grip, so that he's holding onto the sticks correctly. He gently pushes Ryan's foot away from the pedal, and then puts his foot on there, before asking Ryan to put his foot on his. They get settled, and then Brendon begins to play a simple beat, slow and steady _bam-tss ba-dum-tss._

He’s trying not to notice how intimate this feels, Brendon all up in his personal space, but at least he has the decency not to put his crotch right up against his ass. He swallows, and forces himself to not pop a boner. Well, too late. He feels uncomfortable in his pants.

The younger boy continues playing, picking up the speed, and reaching further to hit the high hat, his lips brushing against Ryan’s cheeks in the process. Brendon seems nonchalant, as if there was nothing going on and this was all normal to him. After a while, Brendon stops playing and rests his hands on his laps, although he’s still holding onto Ryan’s.

They sit for a moment in silence, before Ryan bravely leans back against Brendon’s torso, and Brendon inhales sharply with a soft gasp. He stays immobile, then Ryan angles his head back to look at Brendon through his lashes. He blinks owlishly at him, and then Brendon’s backing away, dropping his hands and shooting up from the stool, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Um, yeah, so basically that’s how you play drums. I’m gonna go now, bye,” Brendon says quickly, and practically runs out of the music room.

Ryan can’t help but feel disappointed.

The next time Ryan goes into the music room, Brendon somehow knows his schedule, and he’s already sitting on the second stool that’s already placed behind the first stool. He’s twirling the drumsticks idly, stepping on the pedal in an off-beat. Ryan hesitantly walks over to the drum set, avoiding Brendon’s eyes.

“Are you going to let me practise?” Ryan asks after a moment of silence, when neither of them have moved.

“I thought I was going to teach you,” Brendon says, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Ryan looks up in surprise, and then nervousness, because he is so going to pop another boner if Brendon is going to be all over him again. He almost wants to say that he doesn’t have to practise _now_ , but deep inside, he really wants Brendon to invade his personal space. He crosses over Brendon’s lap, and then sits down gingerly. Brendon extends the drumsticks and he intercepts them, Brendon’s hands once again covering his own. He’s struggling to do this, he really is, and finally he lets go of his inhibitions. He throws Brendon’s arms away and twists around to bring Brendon’s lips to his own.

After the initial shock sets in, Brendon kisses Ryan back, and Ryan thinks that he doesn’t even need to learn how to play the drums, doesn’t even need to have any sense of coordination to have Brendon falling into his arms. He shifts and straddles Brendon’s lap. He’s got _other skills_ to impress Brendon, and they may just prove to be much more successful.


	16. Oh, What A Mess We’re In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write a story about someone who discovers a mysterious object in their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So (ignoring the title because I don't know what to name it) this is essentially the prequel to Oh, Such Torturous Things. It's kind of like a backstory, if you will. Maybe I'll write one about what happens in between in the future.
> 
> It's not really a Ryden-centric one, but I still hope you guys enjoy this!

“He found me.”

The voice over the phone is shaky and breathless. He hears heavy breathing and a loud bang, before the line goes dead.

“Jon? Hello?” Spencer yells into the receiver, only to be met with the dial tone.

He promptly dials another number. “Shit.”

Ryan raps his knuckles against the wooden door, calling out the owner’s name. Impatiently, Spencer shoves him aside and pounds his fist repeatedly, screaming, “Jon, open up!”

One of the neighbours on the same floor opens their door to see what all the ruckus is about. They glare at the men standing in the hallway, and irritatedly shushes them before slamming their own door shut. After what seemed like hours, Jon finally opens the door. Spencer pushes right past Jon and barges in.

“Fuck, Jon, what the hell is going on?” Spencer demands, stopping in the center of his living room, hands planted firmly on his hips.

“He found me,” Jon whispers, and opens his palm to reveal a silver ring. A ring that is identical to the one he has on his finger. “He’s got her,” he sobs, burying his face in his hands, and collapses onto the floor in a heap.

“Who’s got Cassie?” Ryan asks softly, empathetic towards Jon, because if Brendon were to be taken, he’s pretty sure he would be fairing ten times worse than Jon right at this moment.

“Gabe’s boss, Pete,” Jon chokes out through his tears, wiping his eyes furiously with the back of his hands.

“Gabe? As in your dealer that you promised you wouldn’t look for ever again?” Spencer spits angrily, frowning at Jon with his piercing blue eyes.

Jon sighs and laments, “I was in a bad place, alright? We had a huge fight and it felt like Cass was going to leave me!”

“What the hell, Jon, you fucking promised!”

“For the band, too,” Ryan adds quietly, but the disappointment in his voice is clear.

Jon groans and pulls his hair in despair. He marches over to his kitchen table and comes back to the living room, dropping a mysteriously shaped package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. From the sound of it, whatever is inside is not something light. Jon says that it was left for him on the table, with Cassie’s wedding band sitting on top of it, which meant that Pete had been inside his house. They must have taken Cassie as bait to lure him in. He knows it’s a trap, but he has to be the hero to save his girl. Ironically, when questioned about the loud bang, Jon mutters that he had passed out from fear and hit his head when he fell.

The three of them gather around the parcel, dramatically pausing to look between one another and down at the package. Jon’s afraid to open it; he’s afraid of what he might see. Spencer takes the liberty to pull the twine loose, and he slides the contents out onto the table. Curiously, there were no tapes, or recordings, or even body parts, _thank God_ , just some photographs that aren’t even focused on a sentient being, and a blueprint.

Jon picks up the stack of photographs, studying them, while Ryan and Spencer unfold the blueprint, laying it flat on the coffee table. Jon spreads the pictures out as well, just so they could see the big picture and put the pieces together. Ryan’s the one who figured out the puzzle, for he’s the one that broke the silence, saying in utter disbelief, “I think we’re going to have to steal this jewel for him.”

As if on cue, there’s a rhythmic knock on the door, causing them to jump. Brendon’s voice tells them that it’s him, and Jon glares at Ryan, asking exasperatedly, “You invited _him_?”

Ryan gets up to open the door for Brendon. He pays no attention to Jon’s tone, and merely says, “He can help.”

“No, he can’t, he’s only going to make things worse --” 

“Jon! I heard what happened, are you okay?” Brendon asks worriedly, hurrying over to Jon and peering at him with big expressive eyes.

“I’m perfectly fine,” he grits out, and then Brendon gets distracted by the plethora of colours on the table.

“Wow, this is beautiful,” he breathes, bringing one of the pictures closer to his face to admire the jewel better.

“Yeah, and apparently we’re tasked to steal it,” Ryan denotes, and lets out a short, abrupt laugh through an exhale of his breath.

Brendon’s eyes light up, a glint of mischief in them, and climbs into Ryan’s lap to study the floor plans of the museum closely. Ryan leans back, a smirk appearing on his face, and he’s brought back to relive old memories where Jon, Spencer and himself used to do this as a living, before the band took off. Ryan had found Brendon by accident, or perhaps by fate, when he tried to pick Ryan’s wallet, and had gotten caught by him. He then discovered that Brendon could sing; this, however, was purely accidental. With the band growing in success, they have left that part of their lives behind.

The four of them glanced between one another, a knowing look in their eyes. Spencer chuckles in amusement, shaking his head. Ryan reclines his back against the edge of the sofa, perfectly relaxed. Brendon leans back into Ryan and clasps his hands, rubbing them together excitedly. Jon licks his lips, a look of determination on his face.

“Let’s go steal the jewel, and save the girl.”


	17. Escape For A Weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 17 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write about a group of friends spending a long-overdue weekend away at a cottage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, I need to stop falling asleep halfway while writing, I've been doing that a lot lately. I could totally see this transforming into a cabin fic, so maybe I'll revisit this in the future and make it about their original second album which was scrapped (yeah you know what I'm talking about, the one where the only full song we have is the one they played live).
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes in this one, my vision is getting blurry. Nevertheless, hope you enjoy!

They've been grinding for months on end, cooped up in the studio and diligently working on their second album. The day they finished recording their last song, the entirety of the album completed, they celebrated with a fancy dinner of Taco Bell, and then to a bar for drinks, partying until well into the early morning.

It's a spur of the moment decision, one of their friends was talking about how they had a cottage in the outskirts of town, and Brendon had drunkenly declared that they should go and take a break over the weekend. The other three members of the band conceded and that's how they came to be, at a lovely little homely cottage that looks straight out of a movie.

"Guys, we've earned this," Brendon simpers, slapping Ryan and Jon on the backs before the four of them enter the cozy abode.

It’s not a large space; there’s a kitchen and a shower to the left, and the living room is sunken to the right corner. There are a couple of sofa chairs and bean bags laying around. On both sides of the house are lofts, wooden ladders leading up to where the beds are, and Brendon immediately calls dibs on the one with the skylight above the bed. He climbs up the ladder and dumps his bag to the side, flopping down on the mattress, hands behind his head, looking up at the clouds through the window above him.

Spencer starts climbing the other ladder to the loft. Jon automatically goes to the ladder that leads to Brendon, assuming that Ryan and Spencer were going to share a bedroom, but Ryan darts a look stealthily to Jon that _no, not this time_ and Jon brushes past Ryan, pretending to go into the kitchen to check out the facilities. Ryan hops onto the bed, his head resting on Brendon’s elbow, and Brendon turns to grin toothily at him before returning to the sky.

“So, what should we do first?” Spencer asks, looking over to the other side where Ryan and Brendon are laying.

“Nothing. Let’s just chill, I don’t want to do _anything,_ ” Brendon replies, closing his eyes, and he’s honestly too lazy to move.

He feels the bed shift, weight being lifted off, then the sound of a zipper and some rustling before the bed dips again. He cracks an eye open; Ryan is on his stomach now, and in his hands he’s got a book. Ryan focuses on reading, while Brendon switches between staring at the slow moving puffs of white on blue, and the man next to him. Ryan catches him gazing, and averts his eyes from his book to look at him and ask softly, “What?”

“Nothing,” Brendon whispers, then flips his body to face the other way, settling on taking a nap instead.

There’s a lake behind the cottage, so on their first night they roast some marshmallows beside the water, making smores. Brendon kind of regrets not bringing his acoustic along, but then Jon pads into the house and comes back with a ukulele, and Brendon clambers all over Jon and tells him how much he loves him.

“Alright, alright, slow down there, or you’re gonna make someone pretty jealous,” Jon chuckles, glancing over at Ryan, and he rolls his eyes, looking away.

Brendon doesn’t catch what Jon’s saying; he just takes the ukulele and plays a soft melody, humming a tune. They enjoy the music, until Brendon stops humming, and eventually all they hear is the sporadic pluckings of the instrument and the crackling of fire on the dry wood. Brendon passes the tiny guitar over to Jon, who immediately starts playing one of their new songs, and they share a laugh. Brendon goes over to sit next to Ryan on one of the logs, squaring their shoulders together. He tips his head and leans against Ryan, a small and pleased smile etched on his lips.

They run into the safety of the house, getting attacked by some mosquitoes, Ryan scratching his arm idly, Spencer his neck and Brendon his back. Jon is the only one that came out unscathed, and he brags about how he’s one with nature and all that bullshit. They decide to all cram onto Ryan and Brendon’s bed, just so they can all stargaze on this cloudless night. Brendon takes this opportunity to snuggle up to Ryan, resting his head on his stomach. Ryan looks down his nose, Brendon smiling sleepily up at him, and he reaches down to massage Brendon’s scalp. The younger man hums and nestles his head into his abdomen.

“Hey, why don’t we go explore one of the trails tomorrow?” Jon suggests with a yawn, and the rest sounds off their agreements. It was only Friday night; they have another two more days of relaxation before they have to go back and get the media and fans riled up for their second album release, world tours, photoshoots, interviews, so on and so forth. 

“And then let’s go skinny dipping tomorrow night,” Brendon continues, listing the things they could do.

“How about fishing?” Ryan proposes, and then Spencer snorts. “What are we going to fish with? Our hands?”

Brendon giggles, and pushes his face into Ryan’s shirt, making him squirm because it was ticklish. Somehow, Brendon ends up half above Ryan, with his legs extended across Jon’s lap. Ryan puts his arms around Brendon, squeezing him tight to his body, and the four of them begin to doze off, their breaths evening out.

They get to enjoy two more days of being off the grid; they know that this was something they needed, to decompress and recharge, and then it’s back to their hectic lives again. Ryan lets himself love Brendon the way he’s never dared to before, something freeing about being away from society and expectations, even if it’s just for one weekend.


	18. I Missed Your Skin When You Were East; You Clicked Your Heels And Wished For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 18 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write about a 21st Birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is essentially my own birthday gift to myself. From the title I'm sure you already know what it's going to be about. This is a continuation of Somewhere Out There, and my take on the events that happened that night.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

He really doesn't want to be here tonight. The club is filled with people, friends, and well, sure, he could just disappear, but then how can you throw a birthday party when the person you’re throwing it for isn't even there?

Everyone's all dressed up, including himself. He chose to put on a dark brown vest over a red checkered buttoned shirt, and a maroon and gold intricate patterned bandana tied around his head to match. He wouldn't admit that he had copied this style from Spencer; his justification was that his hair was getting long and unruly and he needed something to tame it in place, though it didn’t quite work out. Besides, he thought the bandana would have a different use for tonight.

The party had started almost two hours ago, and it's alright. Pete and Keltie had planned this for him, to celebrate his twenty-first, the prime age of entering official adulthood. Pete had announced to him less than a week prior that the party was going to be at his club, Angels & Kings. At the time, Ryan had assumed that his bandmates would be here for the joyous occasion, but he only found out yesterday that while the three of them were heading straight for Seattle, he was flying out to New York alone.

He doesn't really want to be here tonight, because his closest friends aren't here, but he has to pretend. He has to feign smiles, and fake laughter, and entertain the guests, just to keep Keltie happy. Inside, he's annoyed, because he thinks she's done this on purpose, he  _ knows  _ she's done this on purpose, to get him all alone and away from his bandmates. She's envious of them, that he would much rather be spending time with them than with her, and really, who could blame him? Even if Keltie isn't aware of it, she's nothing but a cover up.

It's almost 8PM in New York; the night is still young, but for the people all the way in the West, their night's not even begun. He's now all alone on the black couch, no one's bothering him right now with their well wishes and what-nots, and he sets his drink aside, pulling out his phone. There's an unread message waiting for him that says,  _ on the way to the hotel, this town is moody just like you  _ and he bites his cheeks to hide a smile. He quickly types back a reply.

_ What are you doing right now? _

_ Playing Texas Hold'em with Jon and Spence. I'm losing :D _

_ And why are you so happy about that?  _ Ryan scoffs out a laugh, shaking his head fondly in slight amusement.

_ I’m hiding a frown with a smiley :) _

Ryan pulls his lips into a thin line, and his heart aches for Brendon. He would do anything to be with him right now, but he couldn’t. At least, not yet. He glances up and notices Keltie walking towards him, bright smiles and sparkly teeth. His fingers fly over the keyboard one last time, and he presses send.

_ I wish I was with you instead <3 _

The response he gets is instantaneous.

_ Then come and be with me, only a few hours left. I’ll be waiting <3 _

Keltie plops down next to him just as he snaps his phone shut, and she leans into him excitedly. The people standing before him parts to the side, revealing a few scantily dressed women pushing a cart with his birthday cake, an awkward photo from when he was a teen plastered on the top of it. It’s white, and there’s blue decorative icing, and he reads the words ‘Happy 21st Birthday Ryan!!’ written in Keltie’s handwriting. The club bursts into song, focusing their attention on him as he makes a wish, and blows out the candles in the shape of a ‘2’ and ‘1’.

“What did you wish for?” Keltie asks curiously, and Ryan only gives her a secretive smile.

He forces a smile for the cameras, the shutters snapping countless photos of him, with Keltie, with his friends. He’s missing his best friends, and his lover; he had closed his eyes and wished for Brendon. There’s no such thing as magic, so to make his wish a reality, he has to take action, which he does. He leaves his party after he cuts the cakes and eats it too, and without even a word to his girlfriend, he heads straight to the airport and takes the next flight out of there.

He’s too jumpy to sleep on the plane ride that would lead him back home where his heart truly belonged.

The moment he arrives in Emerald City, he calls Brendon and they agree to meet at the diner just a few blocks away from their hotel downtown. It’s drizzling as Ryan hops into the taxi, but the weather doesn’t dampen his mood the slightest. In fact, he grows increasingly nervous with excitement the nearer he gets to his destination.

He enters the small diner, spotting Brendon sitting alone in one of the booths at the back where there’s more privacy. He beams and crosses the room to his side in less than two seconds. Brendon leaps up from his seat and grins at Ryan, and they squeeze each other tight, Brendon tucking his head into Ryan’s neck and whispers, “Hey, you came.”

“Of course I did,” Ryan replies as a matter-of-factly, and they pull away after a long time.

“You made it with just ten minutes to spare,” Brendon points out, checking the time on his phone.

“Well, don’t you have something you wanted to say to me?” Ryan asks, jerking an eyebrow up and folding his arms.

“Happy twenty-first birthday, Ry,” Brendon greets in a soft and warm tone, making Ryan’s insides knot up with want.

They share a strawberry milkshake, and longing gazes at each other, as Brendon listens to Ryan complain about how horrible his birthday party was and how he definitely isn’t missing out. When the glass is empty, they exit the diner and walk the few blocks back to their hotel. It’s still mizzling steadily, and Brendon lifts the hoodie of his grey wind breaker to shield his head from the rain. It’s quiet between them, until they hear someone gasping out their names.

“Oh, my God, you’re Ryan and Brendon! Can I please have a picture?”

They happily oblige. Ryan’s smile is genuine for the camera this time. The girl thanks them and skips away. They carry on their way to their place of stay for the next few nights in a comfortable silence. Once the elevator doors close, Ryan reaches out to intertwine their fingers together. Brendon glances up shyly at him through his eyelashes, his lips quirking up into a small smile. They get to their floor, and Brendon guides him out through their joined hands and to their hotel room.

Brendon shrugs off his jacket, and Ryan immediately swoops in to capture Brendon’s lips with his own, and mumbles in-between kisses, “God, I missed you so much.”

“Are you ready for your birthday present?” Brendon asks after they break apart, a slight smirk on his face as he places both hands on Ryan’s waist and pulls him in, driving their hips together.

Ryan answers by peeling off his damp outfit, and so does Brendon, leaving their underwear on, their clothing a haphazard trail from the door to the bedroom. Brendon reaches up to untie the bandana, removing it from around Ryan’s head, and keeps the fabric in one enclosed palm. They share a kiss, falling onto the soft sheets, the younger man crawling on top of the other to pin him down by both his wrists above his head. He asks for permission with his eyes, and Ryan gives his consent by biting down on his lower lip in anticipation. Brendon gingerly wraps the bandana around his wrists, tying a knot and pulling it tight. 

With his arms secured above his head, he’s now entirely on the receiving end, unable to reach out to touch Brendon. His eyelids flutter shut as Brendon begins to kiss wet trails down his neck and to his chest, gradually going lower and lower. He uses his teeth to bite down on the elastic waistband of his boxers, and jerks it down in one swift movement, exposing Ryan’s cock. Brendon breathes in his scent and places a kiss to the side of his shaft.

He uses his thumbs to hook into the sides and slides the offending material off of Ryan’s body, licking a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip in one broad stroke, causing Ryan to hiss out and push his hips upwards. Brendon sucks the tip into his mouth, his tongue moving in slow circles around his dick, gently sucking and teasing. He groans, his hard-on getting uncomfortable being trapped in his underwear, his own erection threatening to burst out of his briefs. He rips the garment off hastily, flinging it carelessly off to the side.

Whilst still sucking on Ryan, he adds a few fingers into his mouth, coating them generously with saliva, before he slowly inserts his index finger into Ryan. Ryan moans at the intrusion, and mumbles impatiently, “Bren, come on.”

Brendon fucks Ryan with his finger, then adds another, and another, until he knows that Ryan is ready for something bigger. He rummages through his bag to retrieve a string of condoms, and he tears one open, rolling the latex on. He pours some lube on his dick as well, stroking it a few times. Ryan gasps out in both pain and pleasure as Brendon sinks into him, filling him completely. Brendon grunts noisily as he thrusts rhythmically into Ryan, essentially fucking him into the mattress. Ryan growls out everytime he hits his prostate, the feeling of euphoria shooting through his body.

He reaches between their bodies to wrap his hand around Ryan’s cock, jerking him off till he comes all over their bodies, choking out a scream. Brendon follows not a moment after, spilling his load into the condom, and he leans down to give Ryan a peck on the lips. He pulls out slowly, both feeling extremely satisfied, and he pulls the bandana loose from Ryan’s wrists.

Ryan unsheathes him, knotting the soiled condom up and flinging it to the same side that Brendon had thrown his underwear before. He grabs Brendon by the neck and pulls him down for another kiss. Brendon grins against his lips and whispers, “Happy birthday, my love.”

They lie in the post-coital glow, moonlight shining in through the windows as Ryan spoons Brendon from behind, and they get as much shut-eye as they can before the next interview in the morning.


	19. Wait For Me, I'm Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 19 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write a story about waiting, but not reveal what’s being waited for until the very end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea popped into my head and so I did myself a favour and wrote it down. It doesn't exactly fulfil the promp, but that's okay, because I really liked how this turned out.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

An old man enters the coffee shop, having spent fifteen minutes walking there feebly with his cane. It takes him thrice as long now that his legs don’t work as well anymore, and his back is always hurting no matter what time of the day it is. His amber eyes scan the little shop and he finds his best friend already at their usual spot, reading the paper. He shuffles over, and it takes him a great deal of an effort to lower himself onto the chair. Spencer looks up midway from a piece of news, removing his prescription glasses and smiles sympathetically at him. Ryan returns the smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“I swear, the bed will never be as soft as it once was,” Spencer complains, stretching his back and his joints pop loudly as if to solidify his point.

Ryan agrees moodily, setting down his cane with a little bit more force than necessary and the young waiter brings him a steaming cup of Earl Grey. He grunts as a form of ‘thank you’, tearing open a sugar packet and dumping it into the liquid, stirring it and watching it dissolve.

They talk about the weather, how it’s forecasted that it might rain this evening. They then discuss music, because it’s all they ever know, and they get into arguments about which song is better, or what band played what song better live. They share the same sentiment that the music today hasn’t taken their fancy at all, especially what the teenagers were listening to these days, and they reminisce about their youth, how their generation’s music was the cream of the crop. No one made music like Queen anymore. Spencer asks about Brendon, and Ryan grins, showing the holes along his gums where his teeth had been long decayed away. Today is an important day; Ryan mentally reminds himself to go to the florist to get Brendon’s favourite flowers after his cup of morning tea.

They leave the shop at exactly 11am, every day, and hop to the one just a few units up the street. Today, Spencer orders a salad. Ryan snorts, and orders a chicken burger, with the oil and the fat and the cheese. After he sets his dentures in place, he bites into it heartily. Spencer eyes his burger longingly, but he crunches on some lettuce instead. After lunch, they part ways, Spencer heading to the music store to look for Jon, while Ryan goes back in the direction where he came from.

Ryan passes his apartment building, and continues straight, until the flower shop comes into view. Greta hugs him the moment he steps into the tiny box, the smell of fresh flowers caressing his nostrils and he takes a deep breath in, a serene smile on his face as his eyes flutter close. It’s the sunflowers, Greta tells him, walking over to the tub to pick out some of the prettiest ones. He’s glad that he’s still able to smell Brendon’s favourite flowers.

He chats with Greta for a while, but then he remembers the time and apologizes that he has to rush off, that someone has been waiting for him all day. He cradles the bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers to his chest with one arm, the other gripping onto his cane as he heads home.

Ryan weaves his way through the garden, overgrown with vines and weeds, except for one spot that remains well-trimmed and well-maintained. That spot is where Brendon spent most of his time, and Ryan silently walks towards him. Ryan tips his head down at him, and hands Brendon his favourite flowers. He bends as far as his creaky back would allow him, placing the bouquet next to him. He traces his fingers along Brendon’s name, his eyes going over the words for the umpteenth time since three years ago.

Brendon Boyd Urie  
1987 - 2055  
Beloved husband and friend  
_ “Here lies Brendon and there he went” _

Ryan lets out a soft laugh. Brendon has always had a quirky sense of humour.

He leans an arm on the top of Brendon’s gravestone, and breathes out a sad sigh. The wedding band around his finger catches the sunlight peeking out from behind the clouds, glinting under the light. He digs into his pocket for a cigarette, placing one end of the stick between his lips, and lights the other end. The first inhale of smoke makes him choke; he wheezes and coughs up the phlegm that’s been stuck in the back of his throat for days, spitting it out away from Brendon’s grave. He smokes, and he doesn’t say anything, because there’s nothing left to say anymore. They had spent their entire lives together, and now that one half of something whole is gone, there’s not much to do except to wait for the other half to join them.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, the clouds getting heavier as the wind picks up. He leaves half the joint on the top of the stone, looking at the words one last time, and whispers, “Wait for me.”

Ryan picks up his cane, and walks away.


	20. Repentance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: “Just say it,” he silently reminded himself. He knew he’d regret it if he didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was texing a friend and asking for some ideas because I didn't want this to be a cheesy one, but then I guess there's no better way to write this prompt than with a clichéd plot.
> 
> No spoilers, but I'm just going to say that I'm deliberately leaving the ending open to interpretation, so tell me what you think!
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s too early in the morning, the rays of the sun are just peaking out from the horizon as they paint every surface they touch with a warm orange glow. The park bench is damp from the dew, and it’s cold against his butt, but he remains anyway, staring out at the deserted playground with a blank look on his face.

He’s tired. He’s so tired, and so sick of doing this. He’s thought long and hard about it, and he’s finally decided that he’s going to put an end to it, put an end to his careless ways of slipping out and meeting him for a drink, and then they end up fucking anyway. He’s guilty, and he’s come to repent his sins of adultery. The sun has fully risen and is beating down on him, casting a shadow of an outline of a pathetically hunched form on the bench. He buries his face in his hands, and sighs out. He makes up his mind that all that has got to stop; he has to tell Ryan that he’s not going do it anymore, that he can’t do it anymore. He has to. He has to, because he’s going to risk losing everything that’s important to him in his life.

“Just say it,” he mutters to himself silently. He knows he’ll regret it if he didn’t.

He’s afraid of the outcome, but he dials Ryan’s number anyway, requesting for him to come meet him at the playground. Ryan saunters toward him half an hour later, and slings his arm around Brendon’s shoulder as he plops down next to him, leaning in to peck Brendon just below his earlobe. Brendon is tense, and he exhales softly, and unwillinlgy pries Ryan’s hands off his body and takes them in his own. He places them in his lap, looking down at them, his thumbs rubbing slow cirlces on the backs of Ryan’s hands.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Ryan asks tentetively, and Brendon clearly hears the frown in his voice.

His heart breaks, and it’s killing him inside to have to relay the news to Ryan. He’s worried about how Ryan would react if he tells him -- at the same time, he doesn’t want to find out how easily he could be forgiven if the truth of his scandalous ways comes to light by other means and the love of his life walks away from him.

“Ryan, there’s something I need to tell you,” Brendon starts uneasily, the cogs in his brain working to think of a way to put this forward to Ryan lightly.

Ryan visibly blanches; he knows what’s coming. He’s been dreading this day since the first time they had shared a kiss after their rendezvous at the coffee shop, and Brendon had shyly asked him out for a second date to the movies, which he had promptly agreed without having a second thought. He remembers the time that Brendon had stayed with him and played nurse when he was running a fever. He thinks back to just yesterday, where they popped open a bottle of Rosé and enjoyed a relaxed evening, up until Brendon gets a call from work and has to leave again. Nothing is permanent; everything has to die and be laid to rest. They had a good run, the two of them. 

He stays silent, and his hurt-filled orbs urge Brendon to continue.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Brendon whispers, looking at him apologetically. “I can’t risk losing the one person whom I can call ‘home’.”

Ryan keeps a straight face, but tears are welling up in his eyes, and Brendon swears under his breath. He knows it’s not worth it if he continues down this path; he would be hurting too many people, himself included. He’s already got a bad track record of breaking hearts, and getting his smashed as a result of his karmic actions. It’s a difficult pill to swallow, but he has to say it, he has to hear it coming out from his mouth to know that it’s real.

He takes a deep breath, gathers his courage and finally tells Ryan the truth.


	21. Orange You Glad I’m Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write about a group of friends going fruit picking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so overdued (along with the chapters after this), but I was overloaded and couldn't even find the time to sleep, much less to write. Plus, November is coming to an end, but I'll try to catch up as best as I can.
> 
> Here's a silly one, hope you enjoy it!

“See, mine’s larger than yours,” Brendon boasts, weighing it in his palms.

“No, _mine’s_ larger,” Ryan argues back, putting it next to Brendon’s and comparing their sizes side by side.

Jon overhears them bickering and comes over to see what all the ruckus is about. Apparently they’re fighting over who has bigger… oranges. He sighs, shaking his head and butts in between them, slinging his arms around their shoulders.

“Guys,” Jon starts, looking between the orange they’ve each got in their hands. “It’s not the size that matters, it’s the _colour_.”

Brendon stares down at his orange. It’s light yellow and probably doesn’t even look sweet at all. He frowns. He glances over at Ryan’s, seeing that it’s an even paler colour. His face brightens up and yells triumphantly, “Ha! Mine’s more orange than yours!”

Ryan glares at Brendon, then chucks his orange at Brendon, aiming for his balls. Brendon successfully shuns away from the projectile and gleefully runs away, waving his orange in the air and going to show it off to Spencer. Jon purses his lips and gives Ryan a pointed look.

“You know, if they find out we’re wasting their oranges, they’re going to have to charge us extra,” Jon warns him, and Ryan feels like a teenager getting told off.

“He started it,” Ryan mumbles under his breath, kicking the dirt with his shoe.

“You guys need to learn to play nice,” Spencer says as he walks over to give Ryan a nudge on his shoulder with his own. Ryan punches Spencer lightly on the arm in response.

“Hey, how about we make teams and see which team can make the sweeter juice?” Jon suggests, and Brendon’s eyes light up.

“I’m teaming with Spencer,” Brendon declares, leaping over to his side and putting his head on Spencer’s shoulder.

“Why do you get to team up with Spencer?” Ryan complains, stomping up to Brendon demandingly.

“Fine, then I’ll pair up with Jon,” he shrugs, striding over to stand next to his teammate.

Ryan thinks about it for a second. Jon’s the orange-picking expert here. “No, I want Jon,” he changes his mind.

“No, you wanted Spencer, so I get Jon!” Brendon wails, grabbing onto Jon’s body protectively.

“How about,” Spencer starts, hitching a hand on his hip bitchily. “I get Jon, and the two of you shut the fuck up and work together, huh?”

Brendon and Ryan’s gaze linger on each other’s. Neither says a word as they continue giving each other calculated looks, not even noticing that Jon and Spencer had long since walked away. Brendon makes up his mind first, pulling Ryan by the arm to the opposite direction of where their other two friends had gone.

“Come on, let’s go pick the sweetest oranges and win this!”

There’s an extremely big, extremely bright orange orange, but it’s extremely high up in the trees. Brendon tilts his head up, squinting at the orange, eyes trained on it. He thinks it’s going to take two of him to reach the height of the orange. He tells Ryan so, but Ryan rolls his eyes and tells him that it’s not that high up. They could probably reach it if...

“Lift me up on your shoulders,” he suddenly says, and Brendon turns to squint at him instead.

“Why do you get to be up on my shoulders?”

“Because I’m lighter, duh,” Ryan scoffs, impatiently waiting for Brendon to get down.

“You mean because you could never lift me because I’m stronger,” Brendon gibes, squatting down for Ryan to sit on his shoulders.

Brendon hoists Ryan up, and Ryan braces himself using his friend’s head as a support, reaching up. His fingers enclose around the prize and he tugs, once, hard, and the fruit snaps off the branch. It looks even more mouthwatering from up close. It’s the last orange they need, and they place it in their basket before the four of them head back into the shop. Jon and Spencer hand their basket over first, and the shopkeeper weighs their yield. They then head over to wash, cut and juice their oranges, Brendon and Ryan following suit behind.

Once their containers are filled to the brim with fresh juice, they pour the extras into a cup each and the four of them knock their glasses together, before tasting it themselves. Jon and Spencer’s faces immediately scrunch up, while the other two are surprised that the oranges they managed to pick were nothing but sweet. They grin victoriously at each other, while laughing at their two friends who got the sour oranges despite the ripe exterior.

“Hey, we make a great team,” Ryan beams, recognising how well they worked together, giving Brendon a high five.

Brendon pecks Ryan on the cheek and teases, “Well, orange you glad that we teamed up instead?”

Ryan snorts at the pun and shoves playfully at Brendon, causing him to flail his arms and hit one of the tubs, juice splashing everywhere. His eyes widened, hastily bringing the container upright again, but it’s essentially half-empty. Brendon apologises profusely, almost wanting to dive in to start blaming Ryan for pushing him, but Jon assures him that it was okay. Spencer just looks relieved.

“We don’t need that; we got yours and Ryan’s juice,” Spencer shrugs, and Brendon snatches his and Ryan’s tub of juice to his chest lovingly.

“No way you’re getting our juice!” Brendon proclaims, before Jon and Spencer both pounce on him to attempt to pry the tub away from his hands, while Ryan jumps in to act as defence.

At the end of the day, the four friends return home with half a container of sour orange juice, and another half a container of sweet orange juice. Ryan moodily sulks the entire way back, because, what the heck, it was their hard work, and it had all gone down the drain. Brendon pouts and rests his chin on Ryan’s shoulder, trying to cheer him up despite losing half their gains from being tackled. The front of his shirt is still damp and sticky.

“Maybe if we combined them together, it’s going to taste even better, because it’s like a mix of sweet and sour,” he justifies, juggling the two containers in his lap.

“Don’t you _dare_ mix them together,” Ryan growls, and Brendon sticks his tongue out at him.

“Relax,” Brendon says, and then whispers softly beside Ryan’s ear, “I’m going to keep the sweet one just for us.”

“Well, do you remember which one it is?” Ryan asks quietly, glancing sideways at Brendon, trying not to look too obvious that they were conspiring behind their friends’ literal backs.

Jon is driving them back, Spencer in the passenger seat aimlessly staring out the window. Brendon gives a curt nod, and taps his fingers twice on the tub on his right. Ryan reaches a hand out slowly and scratches a faint marking on the cap with his fingernail, unable to be seen unless you looked closely. Ryan rests his hand on Brendon’s lap as they share a secret smile.

Ryan wakes in the middle of the night, feeling parched. He remembers their juice, and excitedly tiptoes down the stairs, wanting to taste it again on his tongue. After identifying the cap that he marked, he unscrews it and greedily takes a big gulp. His face contorts in pain as he swallows down the mouthful, and infuriatingly yells out for the idiot who got the containers mixed up. 

“BRENDON!”


	22. Love You Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 22 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write a story that starts with two characters saying goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has got to be the saddest one I've ever written. Even I've managed to break my own heart.
> 
> Okay, so I didn't follow the prompt exactly, but I really liked the concept of it. This is inspired by a One Direction song that I chanced upon, under the same name as the title. When I heard the song, I was hit by a wall of hurt because I related to the words so much, but I turned that pain into art. This scene popped into my head, demanding itself to be given the attention. So I did.
> 
> And so, I truly hope you enjoy this.

_ It's inevitable everything that's good comes to an end. _

He opens the door and is greeted by his lover, the one whom he’s been seeing behind his girlfriend’s back for the past two years or so now. They haven’t exactly been the most discreet about it; he wonders how they managed to keep it under the radar all this time. It’s their usual night of meeting up for dinner, sharing a drink, and then always ending their night blissfully in their birthday suits. Except tonight, the man standing at his door isn’t smiling, and neither is he.

Eyes filled with melancholy, they bore into him, almost a silent plea for him to change his mind. But Ryan’s mind is already made up; he’s already asked Keltie to marry him. He just doesn’t see a future with Brendon, mostly because of the constant arguments they have about Brendon wanting to go public with their relationship, when he wants to keep it private. The only time they stop fighting is when they’re fucking each other’s brains out in every possible surface of Ryan’s second home, the one he’s bought under an alias, the one he’s bought just for the two of them to be together. Keltie doesn’t know about this place. It was their hideaway, a place for them to escape from the pressures of the real world, but now Ryan is giving it up to another family that’s due to move in next month.

He remembers the way Brendon’s eyes sparkled when he hands him the key. Now, they just look empty.

Brendon sighs out heavily, slowly beginning to realise that Ryan is serious about this; he’s not swaying from his decision. Ryan clenches his jaw, shoulders tense, and he waits for Brendon to make his move. He could either come in, or he could turn around and leave. Brendon chooses the former, he crosses over the threshold in one quick stride, gently kicking the door close behind him.

They stand chest-to-chest, and Brendon takes his time studying Ryan’s features, trying to memorize them. He brushes Ryan’s curls behind the shell of his ear, letting his knuckles linger on his skin. Brendon runs his hand down Ryan’s arm, linking their fingers together, and holds on tight. He leads them to the bedroom, and they sit side-by-side on the foot of the king sized bed. The sheets are fresh; Ryan’s been anticipating Brendon’s arrival the moment he called him and said that he was ending things between them once and for all. 

Brendon leans in slowly to capture Ryan’s lips with his own, sucking on them softly. He shifts to cup Ryan’s face with both hands, taking their kiss deeper. Ryan snakes his own hands under Brendon’s shirt, riding it up to expose his belly. He lowers Brendon tenderly down onto the bed, pulling his shirt up higher, and Ryan leans down to take a nipple between his lips. Brendon gasps, and heaves his chest up higher, Ryan bringing his body closer.

They take it slow tonight. The clothes get shed off their bodies unhurriedly, piece by piece, taking their sweet time peeling it off until they’re completely exposed. Ryan gives it to him one last time, forgoing their usual protection, desperately needing to feel Brendon’s tight walls around him, and for Brendon to feel him, remember him forever. When their bodies melt into one, Brendon feels his heart shattering into a million more pieces for every time that Ryan thrusts into him, filling him up.

They don’t fuck; they make love. It’s not the same, and Brendon doesn’t go crazy with his screams of pleasure. He moans, low and quiet, never taking his eyes off of Ryan as he slides in and out of him. Ryan dips down to suck on Brendon’s lower lip, and he takes this opportunity to slip his tongue into his mouth, pushing it against Brendon’s. The kiss they share is passionate, and sensual, and they don’t stop to even breathe, they just keep going on and on and on.

The scene is a beautiful amalgamation of two beings into one, of two people in love, but somewhere along the way they had gotten lost, and now they can’t find their way back. One of them tries to retrace their path; the other decides to go down a new road, solo. Either way, their final destination isn’t the same as before, not anymore. 

Pleasure starts building up for the both of them, until Brendon comes undone beneath Ryan’s caresses, and Ryan, too, rides out his own orgasm buried deep inside Brendon’s familiar warmth. Ryan stretches over to his nightstand to grab a few pieces of tissue, and carefully wipes Brendon’s stomach clean. He tosses the soiled wad of paper back onto the table, before his lips find Brendon’s again. He slips out of Brendon, eliciting a soft moan from the younger man, and they lie facing each other, their chests plastered together. Brendon’s hurt-filled eyes stare into Ryan’s similar ones once more. He hooks a finger under his chin to guide Ryan’s face nearer to his, and he closes the gap between them in another impassioned kiss. It’s a bittersweet goodbye that neither of them are quite ready for yet.

“I love you,” Brendon whispers, but Ryan shushes him and places a clammy palm against the side of his face.

“Don’t,” he croaks, a brush of his chapped lips against Brendon’s forehead. “Please.”

Brendon’s lashes are wet against his cheeks, but he complies, and doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he snuggles closer to Ryan, and hangs on to his lover for the final time.


	23. That’s Just The Way It Goes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: You check the time. Perfect. As intended, you’ve arrived fashionably late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that the month is almost over (in like 3 hours), but I've got the next few promptss written out, and I'll be posting them soon. As for the rest of the prompts that I haven't gotten to write yet, I'll be going over into the next month, but that's okay, because I'll still be completing 30 days, 30 prompts.
> 
> Hope you continue to enjoy this!

He casually makes his way down the sidewalk, purposefully taking his time and walking a little slower than usual. The weather is getting colder out, and he tugs on the scarf he’s got tied around his neck a little tighter. He sees the white luminescent sign in the far distance, and continues going for it. Finally, he arrives at the glass doors of the restaurant. He checks the time. Perfect. As intended, he’s arrived fashionably late.

When he enters the restaurant, the staff is already telling him that they’re closing, and the last order is in ten minutes, but he merely smiles at them and with a curt nod he heads over to one of the tables where a man is seated, waiting for him with his head in his phone. He goes up to the table and takes a seat without a word. The man’s head shoots up to glare at him.

“Where the fuck were you?” Brendon asked impatiently. “We agreed on seven -- it’s almost nine!”

“Sorry, I got held up,” he shrugs, unapologetically, and starts flipping through the menu.

“I called you like a million times but you didn’t even pick up. I was just about to leave,” he fumes, clearly annoyed that Ryan’s almost two hours late for their date.

Ryan ignores him and lifts a hand to signal for the waiter. He orders, the waiter reminding him again that the restaurant is closing in half an hour. He acknowledges it with a polite smile, before asking Brendon dissmissively what he wants to order. Brendon stares at Ryan incredulously.

“I’ve been waiting for almost two hours,” Brendon deadpans, and the waiter nervously walks away.

There’s only the two of them and a young couple left in the restaurant, and they’re sharing dessert, almost ready to call for the bill. For the both of them, their dinner date has barely even started. Brendon had initially ordered a bottle of Red for them, but he’s downed more than three-quarters of it while waiting for Ryan to show up. He had set himself a cut-off time, that if Ryan doesn’t show up by 9pm, he was going to leave the restaurant and head straight to Ryan’s place to demand what’s up. It’s not the first time Ryan’s late for their dates, and there have been other times that Ryan has stood him up due to other more “important things” that he has to do.

“Sorry, man, I was catching up with one of my friends back in college,” he lies, and reaches over for the bottle to pour himself some wine and takes a sip.

Brendon’s still glowering at him, and he’s leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. His face is twisted with a deep frown, pouting, his lower lip slightly jutting out, and Ryan suddenly has the urge to kiss him. He doesn’t though; he just continues drinking his wine.

“Aren’t you going to order?” Ryan asks again, and Brendon just shakes his head.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” he spits, letting out a sharp exhale through his nose.

“You should really get something to eat, or you’re going to get gastric again,” Ryan tells him off mildly, and calls for the waiter again. He orders the fish on behalf of Brendon; Ryan knows it’s his favourite, and he orders a chocolate lava cake to be served after -- another of Brendon’s favourite. Brendon continues glaring at Ryan even after the waiter walks away, though his features have softened. Ryan throws him an easy close-mouthed smile. Brendon just tightens his jaw and looks away.

They eat in silence, and they share the dessert after. Ryan finishes the rest of the wine, and foots the bill like a gentleman. Brendon just thinks that it’s only proper, considering he was the one who’s late. In Ryan’s defense, a few days ago, Brendon left his dirty laundry laying around in his room, which to Ryan, was unacceptable. So obviously he had gotten upset and yelled at Brendon to be a little more organized. As a form of punishment, he’s deliberately arriving late for their dates, just to teach Brendon a lesson. He wonders when Brendon would learn, when he would put two and two together.

When they leave the restaurant to the nearest bus stop, the first snowflake begins to fall. Brendon is thinly dressed and he starts to shiver, so Ryan goes to stand off to the side, pulling off his scarf. Brendon watches Ryan’s face as he brings the scarf around his neck, and knots it perfectly in front, adjusting it so that it covers up the skin to keep Brendon warm. As a final touch, Ryan pecks him once on the lips. Brendon’s still staring intently at him, but he’s hiding a smile behind a bitten lip.

Ryan interlocks their fingers together, swinging their entwined hands togther slightly as they make their way home. They both know that when they get back, they’re going to have ‘reaffirming the relationship’ sex -- only the best kind. Neither of them minds though, because that’s just the way it goes.


	24. Let’s Start Over Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write about two people who know each other are introduced, but neither admits to that fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This didn't really quite work out right, so I might come back to this to change up the time period a little, or something. But I still really liked the idea of having something that happened to them in the past that caused them to have a falling out, and then now they're learning to start over as friends again.
> 
> Nevertheless, hope you enjoy it!

It’s the first day of high school, and Brendon timidly walks down the hallway to head over to his locker. He looks around for the number he got assigned to, and continues straight in the direction where he thinks it should be. When he’s just able to make out the numbers matching to his locker, there’s another lanky guy organising the one beside his own. He doesn’t look closely at him at first, just focuses on turning the lock and getting it open. He starts shoving his books in, but suddenly he realises that from his peripheral vision, the hands with the fingerless gloves have stopped moving in mid-action. Brendon moves his head to check if the guy was alright.

His eyes widened in pure shock when he finally looks at the other guy. The other’s face matches his own, and for a solid two minutes, nobody moves. The thought of respiration doesn’t even enter their minds.

“Uh,” Brendon starts dumbly, still gaping at the guy before him, and reaches up to scratch the side of his head nervously.

“Uh, I…” Ryan’s voice trails off, and he promptly hides his head back into the locker when he sees his friends coming down the hall.

Brendon swallows and shuts his locker, giving Ryan one last side-glance before proceeding to his homeroom class. Coincidentally (or not), Ryan’s also in the same homeroom class as him, and when their eyes meet, they quickly turn away from each other. Ryan resumes talking to a friend, and Brendon stares down at his desk. A voice causes his head to snap up in the direction of the door, and he beams when he sees his friend walk in. Jon notices him straight away and drops his bag down on the seat next to him, extending his arms wide. Brendon grins and stands up to return the hug. He feels a pair of eyes burning holes into the back of his head.

“Jon,” a guy with bright blue eyes beckons him over, and Jon goes, but not before pulling a reluctant Brendon over as well.

“This is Ryan, my best friend I’ve been telling you about; he’s a lyrical genius,” Spencer says proudly, and Ryan blushes. Even after all this time, Brendon’s heart still skips a beat. He blinks a few times and decides to look at Spencer instead, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

Jon and Ryan shake hands, then Jon says, “This is Brendon; he and I play music together.”

Brendon shakes Spencer’s hand, and when he faces Ryan, he plays it cool and shake Ryan’s too. They mingle for a bit before homeroom starts, and they make a plan to meet again for lunch before heading off to their first class of the year. Jon and Spencer have the same class, so they take off together. They had been comparing schedules prior, and at this point Brendon isn’t even surprised when he finds out that he and Ryan share almost every single class together. Their timetables are practically identical. Spencer is envious that Brendon gets to spend more time with his best friend than he does, and Brendon almost blurts out that he wouldn’t mind swapping schedules with him. He decides again it, because it would’ve been too impolite.

They walk to their lab class in silence, and they’re the first ones to arrive. Brendon takes the seat in the second row, pulling out the textbook and beginning to read the first chapter. The corner of Ryan’s mouth quirks up. Brendon hasn’t changed since the last time they met. 

Brendon half-expects Ryan to sit somewhere else, but the chair beside him moves. He almost wants to shift to another seat because he doesn’t want to be partners with Ryan for the entire year, but at the same time, he does. He’s missed him. Brendon doesn’t tell Ryan though.

“So, uh, how’ve you been?” Ryan asks casually, propping his chin up with a fisted palm, with his head twisted to look at Brendon.

“Okay, I guess,” Brendon shrugs, not taking his eyes off his book. “You?”

“Yeah, I’m back to staying with Dad now,” he explains, and Brendon realises that’s the reason Ryan’s offering that he’s back in town. “Are your parents still…?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ve already made plans to move out after graduation,” Brendon firmly states, and Ryan hums.

There’s a moment of tensed silence, and Brendon finally sighs and turns to look at Ryan. He studies him; they both study each other, how much they’ve each grown, how much they’ve changed. On appearances, they’ve changed a lot. But on the inside, they’re still the same two boys who has spent their childhood together.

“You’ve got --” Brendon begins softly, pointing toward Ryan’s eyes, and Ryan says, “Yeah.” and Brendon nods toward Ryan’s hands, “and --”, Ryan repeating with a chuckle, “Yeah.”

Brendon takes a moment to take in the mascara under Ryan’s eyes, and the fingerless gloves, his breath caught in his throat. He nervously wets his lower lip, Ryan’s eyes following the motion. Ryan lets himself stare a little longer at Brendon’s mouth, before returning his gaze to his brown eyes.

“You look good,” Brendon admits quietly, and focusses his attention back to his book, using a knuckle to adjust his red-rimmed glasses.

“You look good, too,” Ryan returns, and Brendon doesn’t react. “I’ve missed you.”

Brendon still doesn’t react, though Ryan notices that he’s clenched his jaw tighter. Ryan sighs, and stares at his hands on the table. Brendon’s distracted by Ryan’s mere presence next to him; he can’t concentrate properly and he’s been reading the same line over and over again for at least five times now. He gives up and mumbles, “I’ve missed you, too.”

He blinks owlishly at Ryan through his lashes, and Ryan feels his pulse pick up as he tries to hide a smile. His eyes are shining though, so Brendon offers him a genuine upward stretch of his lips. Ryan grins right back. They look away from each other again.

“So, since we’re going to be seeing each other a lot from now on, do you think we could let bygones be bygones and start over again?” Ryan asks, sounding a little too hopeful than he’d like.

Brendon bites his lower lip, appearing to be considering Ryan’s request, but eventually he nods. Ryan’s face lights up, and Brendon beams at him. Other students start filling in the seats around them, but they’ve only got eyes for each other like they’re the only ones in the room.

Just like how it had always been all those years ago.


	25. Oh, It’s Only Just Begun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 25 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write a story that ends by circling back to the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I couldn't really fulfill the prompt because it's too short, but still I think it turned out fine. It's a little rushed though, and maybe I need to go back and tidy up some of the other parts.
> 
> This is what happened after Oh, What A Mess We're In, and before Oh, Such Torturous Things.
> 
> Enjoy!

The blue stone sits before them mockingly, perfectly in sight, but utterly out of touch. The final barrier between them and the jewel is the polished glass case. Oh, and the invisible security laser, of course, but Brendon believes that it’s already been deactivated with the main system that Spencer has already brought down with his awesome hacking skills. As confirmation, he sprays the can of hair spray at the doorway to the alcove. Brendon could barely make out the pin-sized holes where the lasers would be shooting out, but there were no green lines in sight.

Jon enters the tiny space first, followed by Ryan, then Brendon. Jon and Ryan carefully insepct the case housing the jewel, searching for a way to unlock it without setting off any hidden alarms. While they worked, Brendon’s busy admiring the big and shiny object, his gloved fingers and his face covered by a black ski mask pressed up lightly against the glass, his warm breath fogging it up when he exhales an awed, “Wow.”

From the ground, Jon glares up at him, swatting his shin once with the back of hand. “Stop it, you might --”

Before Jon could finish his sentence, the shrill sounds of the security system being activated rings out in the building.

“-- trigger the alarm.”

“Oops.”

/

Earlier that day, they had gathered at Jon’s place to work out an action plan, and then gone out to get the supplies they needed for the heist. In order to avoid raising suspicion, they had to split up the list, go in at different times, and pay separately. This was a serious job; if they even got caught, they would definitely end up rotting in prison. But it’s Cassie, and Jon loves her dearly, so even if he dies, he has to die trying.

It’s not fair for the others to join him, but Spencer says there’s a hundred percent chance that he’s going to fail if he goes it alone. Stealing such a valuable jewel isn’t a one-man job. Jon needs a team, a trusted group he can count on to back him up. During the brainstorming session, they discuss on mitigating all the problems that were bound to arise.

Eventually, the plan they conjured was simple. Brendon had remembered some of the details about the musuem; from the past when he would frequent, especially to the space exhibit. He studies the blueprint and brings up the tourist map of the museum on the laptop screen to read them side by side. Spencer and Jon exchange looks of skepticism, while Ryan looks on with pride, seated behind Brendon with arms around his middle as he draws with the marker. Once Brendon’s done, Ryan squeezes him and places a kiss to the back of his ear and murmurs, “That’s perfect.”

Even Jon and Spencer had to agree it was a brilliant plan, but Jon asks, “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Well, then we break the glass and run,” Brendon shrugs, twisting around to straddle Ryan now that his attention is no longer on the plan anymore.

“What -- Are you crazy? We are  _ not _ breaking the glass,” Jon growls, going through the plans again.

Spencer looks conflicted and doesn’t say anything, and Ryan is not able to speak, because Brendon’s mouth is attached to his. Jon sighs and rubs his face tiredly with his hands.

/

“Oh, fuck it!” Jon swears as he takes a heavy swing at the glass with a hammer, the shards exploding in all directions. He grabs the jewel from it’s place on the cushioned stand, pockets it and zips it close. Over their ear pieces, Spencer’s voice crackles to life, “Brendon, you piece of shit!”

“I’m sorry! It was an accident!” Brendon wails, running as fast as his legs could carry him out into the hallway, right behind Jon and Ryan.

“Okay, look, turn right,” Spencer barks, guiding them from his seat where he could see the full picutre from the monitors he’s got set up in the van, parked not far from the museum.

The three follow Spencer’s instructions, successfully avoiding the guards that have come to inspect the scene of the crime. They hear radio chatter in the distance and Spencer tells them to hide in one of the rooms when two blips of red show up on the map, closing the gap on them. Conveniently, there’s a janitor’s closet a few feet away, and the three of them clamber in. They tried to breathe as quietly as they could from their noses, chests heaving. From the louvered door, they make out the throw of flashlights, but they quickly disappear.

“Okay, coast is clear, go back to the door you came from, and then take a left from there.”

They make their way to the space exhibit, and Brendon has to stop at the doorway for a second to stare up at the sun and the moon. Ryan doubles back to grab Brendon’s hand, tugging him along. Jon just huffs in frustration and they proceed left.

“Go South, the route is clear until the prehistoric exhibit,” Spencer commands, flicking his eyes over the screens in front of him and hastily working out an exit route for his friends.

“Cross over to the door at your one o’clock. The exit is almost there, just -- shit!”

The museum’s surveillance room has taken back control of the security system, locking him out and Spencer tells them so. “I’m blind here; you have to hurry, their camera feed is back online. Head South, I think, I don’t even fucking know at this point anymore, God, I’m really sorry guys. I’m going to wait five minutes, because they’re coming. Worse case, just try to hide, or avoid their cameras.”

They look up and see the cameras pointed in every direction, covering all blindspots. Yeah, that’s not an option. Jon panics, and starts whipping his head around trying to get his bearings, but in his frantic state of mind, it’s only confusing him more. Ryan begins to hyperventilate as well, the grip on Brendon’s fingers getting increasingly harder. Brendon, though, he takes a look around, and he recognizes this hallway. It was the same corridor where they had entered the building.

He pulls Ryan along and rounds the corner. As he expected, the signs indicate that the washrooms are less than fifty meters away. They could escape the same way they came from. Brendon throws the doors to the men’s room open, and as promised, the opened window above one of the water closets greet them. One after the other they climb out, and they cross the back lawn to where the cut wire fence waits for them. Spencer has the van ready to go, and he rams his foot on the accelerator once the three of them hurl themselves in. Jon slides the side door shut and slumps down against it in relief. 

Brendon is laughing in disbelief, the adreline pumping through his veins, and Ryan grabs Brendon’s face to kiss him, the two of them toppling onto the ground in a fit of giggles. “Bren, you fucking saved our asses back there,” Ryan says between kisses where he’s laying above Brendon, and Jon averts his eyes with a scoff.

“He was the one who got us into trouble in the first place,” Jon argues, deciding to climb into the passenger seat so he doesn’t have to see their full-on, heavy make-out session. For good measure, he turns up the radio so he doesn’t have to hear it as well.

As if on cue, Jon’s phone rings. It’s from an unknown caller ID. Jon nervously picks up the call.

“Not bad, Walker, I see you’ve got what I asked for and I’m sure you’d like to exchange it with your little girlfriend,” the gruff voice over the phone teases. “The location has been sent to you. Bring it here and you’ll get her back.”

The line goes dead, and Jon urges Spencer to step on it. He checks his messages and sure enough, he’s received the location where he’s supposed to deliver the jewel. Unfortunately, it’s at least two states away. He informs the others, but the driver doesn’t even flinch; he merges into the highway, and makes an unplanned turn, taking them onroute to the location. Jon exhales heavily, sinking back into the cushion of the seat, closing his eyes. 

They’re not prepared for whatever is going to happen out there; they will have to take it one step at a time and put their trust in one another in order to make it through this arduous journey.


	26. You’ve Finally Come Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 26 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: You thought he was dead, but there he is, right in front of you on the street, smiling at you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old people make me cry :(
> 
> This takes place after Wait For Me, I'm Coming Home. I definitely shed some tears while writing this.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

It’s cloudy, and it’s windy, some of the leaves tumbling along the dying grass occasionally. He’s at his usual hangout place, right by his lover’s grave. The dried leaves get raked to a pile steadily, and he collects them before the wind destroys his hard work, and dumps them into a black trash bag. On the branches above his head, two birds are singing to one another, communicating in their own way, and he squints up at them. One of the birds hop closer to the other and brushes their head on the other’s puffy blue chest. The old man cracks a warm, toothy grin at the lovebirds up in the trees.

He turns to look fondly at the stone, walking over to brush his calloused fingertips along the rough surface. The birds continue their song, and Ryan recalls the good old days that he had spent with his late husband, how they had lived the best life together. The day that Brendon joined the band, to their first live show, to their first trip to Europe for their world tour, where they had been so excited to see Paris. Since they were pretty big rockstars at that point, they were allowed up the Eiffel Tower for a private tour, just the four of them. He and Brendon shamelessly had sex on the higest point of the city of love, their pleasures cries carried away by the wind.

He remembers their last show here in LA, when they had to announce that they were stepping off the stage forever, because Brendon couldn’t sing anymore. During that last show, their lead singer had struggled to breathe, and Ryan and Jon had to fill in for a lot of the parts that Brendon’s too busy hacking away to even sing. That night, their fans were in tears, but they sang along, loud and bright, their way of saying goodbye to the band that had saved their lives, one way or another. The band, in return, gave them a show they could never forget. That night, the show ended with ambulances crowding the venue, and paramedics having to wheel an unconscious Brendon away.

Ryan emptied his eyes in the waiting room that night.

There’s a black butterfly, fluttering in the breeze, and it goes up to him, circles around him and then hovers over the grave, and rests on the stone, right by Ryan’s fingertips. He admires the dark patterns on the creature, and his fingers twitched, wanting to reach out to caress the wings of the butterfly. When he moves closer by another inch, the butterfly flies away, and disappears into the trees way up high. He lets out a sigh, and tells the gray stone, “I miss you, Bren.”

Involuntarily, his eyes start to become glassy, and he sniffs once, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand roughly. But the tears continue to fall, and one teardrop lands on the dying sunflowers at the side of the grave. Ryan decides to throw the rotting bouquet away as well, promising Brendon that he would come back tomorrow with fresh ones. He finishes up tidying the area of the garden where his lover rests, and then tips his head down to place a kiss on the top of Brendon’s grave. He leaves, using his cane as additional support for his failing joints.

He meets Jon and Spencer for dinner, mindless chatter about the weather, music, sometimes even baseball. Jon avoids talking about Brendon, but Spencer doesn’t -- he blatantly asks his best friend about how Brendon is doing. Ryan gives him a long look and with a sad smile on his face, he lies, “He’s still in the hospital, but he’s doing well.”

“That’s good to hear. Remind me to go visit him tomorrow,” Spencer says dismissively, cutting up a potato and stuffing it in his mouth.

Jon glances at Ryan apologetically, and Ryan just shakes his head. It’s a good thing that Spencer doesn’t remember what happened the night Brendon was rushed to the hospital, and Ryan doesn’t have the heart to tell him the truth a second time. He can’t bear to see him break down another time, because if he does, he’s going to lose it too, and then Jon’s going to lose it as well. So he settles on the little white lie he has to repeat on a daily basis. He should be used to it by now, but his heart still breaks and his voice still cracks and his chest still feels constricted.

Ryan feels the air get thicker and he’s a little short of breath, but he carries on eating his chicken, biting into the tender meat and fatty skin. There’s this uncomfort in his chest, almost like the air is being squeezed out of him -- and pain. It starts from the center of the left side of his chest and it grows, the sharp pain spreading to the expanse of his chest, and for a moment he thinks he’s suffering from heartburn. He drops his cutlery, the metal clattering loudly against his plate, as he clutches a hand over his heart. Jon and Spencer immediately stop eating and Jon hurriedly dials for 911, while Spencer uses a napkin to fan Ryan, who’s pale and sweaty.

The last thing he remembers is the doors of the ambulance slamming shut, Jon and Spencer peering in through the window while a paramedic fastens an oxygen mask over his face.

When he exits through the doors of the hospital, he feels so much better. Younger, almost. His joints aren’t that stiff anymore, and he just generally feels lighter. The spring in his step is back, and he’s found that he doesn’t have much difficulty walking, even managing to hop over the cracks on the pavement. He hums under his breath, one of Brendon’s favourite songs, as he goes in the direction of the cemetery. He just wants to be alone with his late lover for a while after learning that he’s just survived a cardiac arrest.

Suddenly, something makes him halt in mid-step. There’s a young and handsome man that looked peculiarly familiar; he looked exactly like how Brendon did, a lifetime ago. Ryan frowns in confusion as he stares at the illusion. He thought he was dead, but there he is, right in front of him on the street, smiling at him. No, it can’t be. Ryan watched Brendon die, and he watched his coffin descend, six feet down, into the earth. It has to be his dopplegänger.

The apparition moves slowly toward him, and Ryan stands, transfixed, as his lover closes the distance between them, except that it’s not his lover. It just can’t be. Ryan’s flabbergasted; he doesn’t know what’s going on and he doesn’t know how to react.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Brendon murmurs, smiling softly at Ryan, but the latter just stares unbelievably at him, not daring to move a muscle.

“You’ve finally come home,” Brendon sighs out in content, reaching out to caress his cheek and Ryan gasps at the contact, immediately throwing himself into his lover’s arms and they hold onto each other for the longest time, neither of them wanting to ever let go. Ryan’s lips find Brendon’s and they share the most passionate kiss. “You’re real,” Ryan sobs, and Brendon nods, kissing his tears away.

Ryan beams through his tears and he breathes out in repose, “I’m finally home.”


	27. There’s No Way I Could Make It Without You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 27 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write a story about a person experiencing pre-performance jitters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say for this one is… UGH, I WISH!
> 
> Oh, and also, title shamelessly taken from Austin and Ally, if anyone remembers them.
> 
> (I know this is really late, but still) I hope you enjoy!

This is it.

They've finally made it. They're finally worthy of headlining for Fall Out Boy, and Ryan Ross is freaking out. It's not like they've never played on stage before. It's just that they've never played in front of a crowd that's a million strong. Ryan finds that intimidating, and sweat starts to pool in the crevices of his palm lines. He aggressively rubs the wetness away on his pinstriped pants.

His bandmates are fine; Brendon is bouncing off the walls, as usual, Spencer is slapping his palms against his thighs to the beat of one of their songs they've just finished recording, and Jon, well, he's leaning against the couch in a fully relaxed position, arms spread and resting on the back support. Ryan hears the muffled screams of the crowd, and he swallows thickly.

"Hey, Ry, relax," Brendon breathes against the back of his neck, fingers gentle yet firm against his tense shoulders. 

Ryan exhales sharply, the tension from his muscles slowly dissipating from the way Brendon is kneading on all the right spots. He lets his eyes slip shut in bliss, but then groans out in frustration a moment later.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," he grimaces, and then almost gags when he actually _feels_ his stomach doing a 360 flip.

"Dude, it's not like this is our first live show," Brendon points out quizzically, but keeping his hands on Ryan's shoulders.

"Yeah, but not in front of this many people," Ryan whines pathetically, and they hear Gabe Saporta from Cobra Starship announce the band that'll be playing after them, and they can practically feel the rumble of the crowd vibrating its way into the dressing room, shaking the walls. Ryan pales considerably.

Ryan steps out of Brendon's touch, and collapses onto the couch next to Jon. He pats Ryan's leg, giving him an encouraging smile. Spencer tosses a bottle of water into Ryan's lap and he unscrews the cap with shaky hands, taking grateful sips.

They're only going to play a few songs, namely _Camisado, Time to Dance_ and _I Write Sins Not Tragedies_. These songs they have been playing at obscure venues for almost half a year now, all originals composed by the band, lyrics courtesy of Ryan Ross. The kids who attend their sets are always the same kids; they scream the words back at them without any judgement. But ever since Pete Wentz discovered them in a dingy club, they've suddenly been thrown into the spotlight and everything has been moving so fast. Ryan's not sure if he's ready to expose himself in front of the world yet.

They hear William Beckett from The Academy Is… bantering with Gabe, and the crowd erupts into thunderous laughter, and the band starts playing their first song. Three songs later and it would be their turn. Brendon squeezes himself in between Jon and Ryan on the tiny vacant space on the couch while Spencer now taps to the beat of the music coming from the stage.

Brendon nudges Ryan with his elbow, and titters excitedly, “We’re up next!”

“Yeah. no shit, Sherlock,” Ryan mutters darkly and returns the gesture with more force than necessary because Brendon just isn’t helping his case. Brendon juts out his lower lip and leans his frame against Jon instead, who moves his arms and pets Brendon’s hair affectionately.

Finally, it’s their turn to get up on the stage and do their thing. When they pass TAI, Bill gives everyone from Panic! a high five, and Ryan almost misses it because of how nervous he is. Brendon slings an arm around his shoulders when they enter from stage left, and greets the crowd. Jon takes his rightful place on the left of the stage, holding his hand up in a friendly wave. Spencer counts them into their first song. Ryan does his best not to faint in front of a million people.

There’s a fifteen minute break before Fall Out Boy comes on. Ryan’s the first to book it out of the spotlight after Spencer crashes the last cymbal, and he literally bumps into Pete who’s just standing off to the right of the stage behind the curtains. The small man slaps Ryan on the back a few times and with a shit-eating grin he exclaims, “Good show! That was great, you guys!”

The others join Pete and Ryan backstage, and each got compliments from Pete, except when it came to Ryan, Pete looks a bit disappointed as he points out, “Ryan, you should face the audience more, not your boyfriend. I mean we all know how charming he is, look at him, but, you know?”

There’s no stopping the redness from creeping up his cheeks. Ryan stares bug-eyed at Pete, speechless. Brendon clears his throat and glances down at his shoes. Jon and Spencer just shoot each other knowing smirks.

For the entire show, all Ryan did was seek comfort in Brendon, and all Brendon did was provide that comfort that Ryan needed. Ryan would turn to his left, facing Brendon as he played, or walk up to him, always keeping his eyes on him, and Brendon would turn and sing to him occasionally. If not, Ryan would either stare at his fingering on the guitar strings, or just keep his head down, hair falling into his eyes and shielding him from the audience, but his eyes constantly shifting to where Brendon is, the lead singer forever remaining at the very least in his peripheral vision. For the entire duration while he was up on that stage, he might have paid attention to the audience for a total of approximately three point five seconds.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Brendon mumbles sheepishly, furtively glancing up at Ryan to test his reaction. Ryan just stares determinedly at Brendon like he has something to say, but no words leave his lips.

Later on when they check in to the hotel for the night, Ryan automatically snatches a key from Zack, but instead of his usual “Come on, Spin”, no, this time he wordlessly tugs on Brendon’s wrist, where the younger boy’s still in mid-sentence, talking to their bassist. Brendon is just as dumbfounded as everyone else in the lobby as he gets pulled away.

A few months from now, Panic! At The Disco would have released their first studio album, _A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out_ , and it would be selling like hot pancakes, going platinum. Their song, _I Write Sins Not Tragedies_ , would be abused on radio stations worldwide. For almost two years they would be touring every state in America, with their friends from the Lucent Dossier circus, and Ryan would slowly start to open himself up to the world. He would start looking up at the crowd for more than five seconds at a time, he would sing into his microphone more, he would even interact with the audience, albeit a few words at a time.

Then the band would take a break from touring, and decided to isolate themselves in a cabin in the middle of the mountains to write their album, which would be scrapped eventually, but what they released after, _Pretty. Odd._ , became the most brilliant masterpiece of lyrical ingenuity and musical orchestration. During interviews and press releases, Ryan would deny that any of the songs were written about Brendon, yet, they would share knowing looks and secret smiles and keep things vague when asked to give their commentary on the songs from the second album. Ryan would often mention that he’s told Brendon to pay special attention to this one line in _Northern Downpour, ‘I know the world’s a broken bone, so melt your headaches call it home’_. This would be the closest of a love confession anyone would ever get out of Ryan Ross (but then again, their second album says it all).

Touring would resume, and Ryan would come out to the stage with full confidence, no longer hiding behind his hair and make-up, no longer keeping his head down. He would be the first to greet the audience, and get them hyped up for the show, and Brendon would add on to the conversation, which most of the time would end with a joke and the audience would laugh. Ryan’s laughter, bright as the sun, would travel from the microphone out of the speakers, and the mere sound of it surrounding Brendon is enough to make his heart swell up with pride.

Despite everything that has changed, Ryan would routinely make his way to play next to Brendon, never letting him out of his sight. He would share the microphone with Brendon, especially when they would close their set with _Mad As Rabbits_ where they would both harmonize on ' _We must reinvent love_ ', and if Brendon were to turn his head, he would see the crinkles by his eyes, getting deeper and more pronounced every passing day. When Ryan would courageously sing almost the entire song all by himself, Brendon would definitely see how far Ryan has come. Ryan would know the same as he belts out the words to _Behind the Sea_ , fully encompassing the fact that he could have never made it this far without Brendon.

And he’s looking forward to spending the rest of his life not a minute less without him.


	28. Adventure Of A Lifetime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 28 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write about a game of Treasure Hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think y'all can tell I've been really lazy with my titles lately and just downright robbing artists of their song titles.
> 
> So maybe this isn't really what a treasure hunt is, but hey, I only have my brain to blame for coming up with this plot when I read the prompt. Not gonna lie though, I kinda want this to be my real life <3 pretty please?
> 
> Well, that's why we have our imagination anyway. And as always, I hope you enjoy!

Brendon wakes up to the buttery smell of pancakes. He grins blissfully, stretching out on the covers, before padding down the stairs and into the kitchen. There’s a lanky man, clad only in his boxers, working the pan on the stove. Brendon creeps up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, tucking his chin on his bony shoulder.

“G’morning, babe,” Brendon greets groggily, placing a kiss on his boyfriend’s neck.

Ryan turns his head to give Brendon a real kiss on his lips, and says, “Good morning, beautiful. Coffee?”

He reaches out to pour another cup for Brendon and he takes it gratefully, gently blowing on it and taking little sips from the rim. Ryan shakes the pan in small vigorous movements, attempting to slide the golden brown pancake off onto a plate, stacked on top of three other slices. He melts more butter in the pan and pours another ladle of batter into it, while Brendon watches fondly from behind his coffee cup.

“You rarely make breakfast,” Brendon muses, placing the cup down and hopping up on the counter, arms wide and beckoning Ryan over. He steps into his embrace, and they share a long kiss, tongues exploring each other’s mouths and getting tangled together in the wet heat. Brendon moans and pulls Ryan closer, only to have the latter break the kiss and complain, “Stop distracting me, you’re gonna make me burn the pancakes."

After they have breakfast, Ryan instructs Brendon to wait for him at the table, while he goes back upstairs to retrieve something. He comes back down with a regular piece of paper, and hands it over to Brendon. On the paper, there are flaps labelled ‘1-10’, and dashed lines with arrows leading from one through ten, ultimately ending at where a red ‘X’ sits at the bottom of the otherwise monochromatic page.

“Is this a treasure map?” Brendon asks excitedly, his eyes shining and looking forward to how they are going to spend their Sunday together.

“Yeah, you have to complete ten simple quests before you get to the ‘treasure’, and you can only open the flaps, in order, when I tell you to. So no peeking,” Ryan says, and tugs Brendon’s hands away from where they’re already trying to flip over the flaps labelled ‘5’ and ‘7’.

He stares at Ryan intently and patiently. When Ryan finally gives him the green light, he practically tears off the first flap.

_1\. Find one person._

Brendon barks out a good humoured laugh and scoffs, “You’re making this too easy, Ry.”

“Okay, so you found me,” Ryan shrugs. “Now, let’s go take a shower and get dressed.”

“Wait, what -- I’m not allowed to open the next one? The suspense is killing me!” Brendon gasps unbelievably, his fingers itching to peel away the second tab.

Ryan smirks. “Nope.”

After having shower sex (well, _duh_ ), they got dressed and Ryan tells Brendon to open the flap with ‘2’ written on it.

_2\. Find a pair of clean socks (and put them on)._

Brendon does as he’s told, and Ryan prompts him to open the next one.

“Ryan, you do know that a treasure hunt is more fun if it’s _outdoors,_ right?” Brendon deadpans, but tears off the third tab anyway.

_3\. Show me affection in three different ways._

“Okay,” Brendon drawls, nodding his head. “I think I see where this is going.”

Brendon laces their fingers together and murmurs, “one”, then pulls Ryan into a brief embrace, “two”, and then crashes their mouths together. “That’s three,” Brendon whispers against Ryan’s lips, and then dives in for another kiss. “And four.”

_4\. Choose only four items to bring with you._

Brendon decides on his wallet and phone, since Ryan has got the keys, and then chooses Ryan as one of the options.

“Oh, wow, so now I’m an _item_ to you,” Ryan rolls his eyes, but plays along anyway, helping Brendon into his fourth item, his coat, because he already knows where the hunt will end.

_5\. Count five couples._

Outside, along the way to the subway, Brendon checks off an elderly couple, a young couple such as themselves, a gay couple also such as themselves, a lesbian couple, and… themselves.

“Hey, it counts!” Brendon chirps triumphantly, and Ryan doesn’t have an argument for it.

“I swear, you are too smart for this game,” Ryan grumbles, but he’s really just trying not to smile.

_6\. Spot six red cars._

Brendon does. “Where does the challenge begin, Ross? You’re making the treasure too easy to find.”

_7\. Wait for seven trains to pass before getting on._

“ _Seriously_? You make the first six super simple and then suddenly this one is just plain annoying.”

“Oh, shut up, I tried, okay?”

“Yeah, I know you did, babe. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

_8\. Hop eight steps._

They’re now at the park, strolling along the path, and they’ve reached the playground where it’s quite crowded with children playing and parents watching. Brendon stares incredulously at Ryan.

“You just want to embarrass me in public,” Brendon tsks, but still he hops the next eight steps forward. Ryan hides his laughter behind the back of his hand when some of the kids and parents turn their head to look at Brendon weirdly. After the last hop, Brendon purposefully shoves Ryan into a nearby shrub and sprints away giggling. Ryan fights with the bush before escaping it’s clawing twigs, but not without foliage being stuck to his hair and clothes. Brendon sweetly picks each leaf off of his boyfriend’s body, smiling innocently up at an unamused Ryan.

_9\. Pick up nine leaves._

This time, Brendon laughs, hard. Ryan purses his lips and says with an air of nonchalance, “Let’s go ahead and skip that one.”

Brendon’s still struggling to breathe when he points out that he just did (pick up nine leaves off of Ryan’s body).

Ryan shakes his head and leads them down a more secluded path, towards a lake. He unlinks their hands and starts to wander off the path, getting close to the edge of the water. Brendon trails slowly behind, taking in the sights.

“Open the last one.”

_10\. Take ten steps forward._

When Brendon looks up from the map, Ryan is conveniently standing ten paces away, looking nervous, and Brendon eyes him curiously. He takes a few tentative steps forward, watching as Ryan takes out a tiny square paper and unfolds it, holding it out in front of his chest, revealing a big red ‘X’. 

“Very clever, so you’re the treasure, eh? How cheesy,” Brendon chuckles, but continues moving slowly toward Ryan, who is now putting the paper away and has both hands behind his back.

Brendon completes the ten agonizingly slow steps towards Ryan, and they now stand an inch apart. He’s got a lop-sided smile on his face, and Ryan thinks that he’s never looked any cuter than this. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, and he hopes that Brendon can’t hear it, or he might have to call the ambulance. His palms are sweating at where he’s clutching onto the small velvet box a little too hard.

“What’s up?” Brendon asks softly, his itchy hands already making a move to find out what Ryan’s holding behind his back.

Before Brendon’s fingers manage to find his, Ryan inhales a shaky breath sharply, gets down on one knee, and pops the question:

“Brendon, will you marry me?”


	29. Come Get A Load Of This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 29 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write about someone getting a call from the future that the fate of the world is in their hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, please don’t judge me for this, I have no idea where this came from.
> 
> Also, please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction, so not everything has to make sense, alright? It’s going to turn out really stupid, but please bear with me. I might have also gone off tangent from the prompt.
> 
> Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this?

It’s the year 3051, and the New Humans have been engaged in a ferocious war with other alien species for at least a thousand years. It had started small, really, just trying to shoot satellites and fire long-range signals into space in an attempt to contact other life in the universe. In the meantime, while we waited for the dark abyss to respond, we busied ourselves with artificial intelligence, building models of robots, but they could never feel what an actual human does no matter how much we educate them on what emotions were.

Alas, the conundrum had been resolved once we discovered a way to upload the human consciousness into a computer. We fused the human mind with a fully-functioning robot that bleeds like a human when subjected to a flesh wound, but with the help of nanotechnology could heal itself back to its original state. This was the year 2027, where the human race peaked; our greatest achievement -- immortality.

At the beginning, only the elitists got to live forever, their consciousness quickly transferred into a central database and when they took their last breath, they continued life as it was, just that it was in a metal vessel with the capability to bleed, rather than in skin, flesh and bones. Concurrently, we delved further into space travel, and the idea of dwelling permanently up in space, and thus, the Ark was born.

As the years go by, immortality has become more accessible, and in less than five years, more than ninety percent of the population has transferred their minds inside of machines, and half of them reside in the Ark. Nine months later, Earth housed a total of zero homosapients.

Of course, not everything was sunshine and rainbows. The nanotechnology came from a rare space metal, Niridium, and without it, we would never be able to heal our wounds. We were running short on supply, and began to wipe the universe clean of it, as we do with all natural sources back on our home planet, milking it dry. It wasn’t necessarily sustainable, but the researchers weighed that it was better than having to breathe oxygen, eat food and defecate feces, so I guess we just have to try a little bit harder at finding more Niridium now, don’t we?

Then there was also the thought of encountering other hostilities, while the Ark careens through space without a care, nagging at the back of our minds. We foraged the universe for more rare elements, mining them up like there was no tomorrow. Till then we had been lucky and hadn’t rubbed noses with any of the other lifeforms that could be out there, but obviously, we were never going to take that chance anyway.

The weapons we created were… wow. They were truly impressive, some of which enough to wipe out an entire planet. In fact, we accidentally blew up Earth when the captain of the ship had meant to hit the ‘camera’ button to take a picture for memorabilia, but instead deployed the planet-engulfing missile. The sphere we once called our home quickly disappeared before our very eyes. There was not a single speck of it left in the aftermath. It was truly a shame though, because it seemed like Earth was healing after its soil was purged of humans.

We never forgot about the signal we sent into space. Having drifted in space for so long, we finally received a belated response on Christmas Eve, year 2046, from another ship similar to the Ark. Our captain had merely extended a friendly greeting, before the Ark was under full attack come Christmas morning. What started as a simple gesture to contact aliens, had ended in a bloodbath, and on Jesus’ birth date too, mind you. It wasn’t long before other ships and other species joined in the fight. Apparently there really were factions in space, and we should be so lucky that one of those later ships that joined the battle were on our side.

Anyway, the said bloodbath has lasted for a thousand years and still continues to this day. But, hey, at least we have backup! It’s just… too bad they’re still human. We do have parts of the technology left for transferring their consciousness into other bleed-able mechanical vessels. It’s just… there’s not enough Niridium to go around, and up in space when you’re in a thousand year war, it’s every man for himself. Or every machine for itself. Whatever floats your boat.

Ryan Ross sprints down one of the tunnels, making a beeline for the weaponry chamber. The clanging sound of his metal feet hitting the metal deck echoes loudly in the tube, essentially giving his position away, but he doesn’t care. His plasma gun is low on power, and he really needs a new one right about now. When plasma ran out in the universe, and wouldn’t generate again for at least another billion years, the weapons have gone through a series of modifications. The current one runs on solar power and the battery lasts for at least a hundred years, but it’s funny how no one has stopped by any stars to recharge them. How foolish.

He hears two sets of footsteps behind him, and without turning back he fires blindly over his shoulder. A beam ricochets off the walls, and hits the foot of one of the guys. He screams out in pain as blood spurts out of the wound, limping a few steps before the nanotechnology kicks into action, working rapidly to regenerate the hole. Now, come to think of it, was the blood really necessary in the first place? It literally adds no value.

“Hey, cut it out, I’m almost out of Niridium!” Jon yells, and Ryan whips his head back to mumble out an apology. “And you could have killed your boyfriend!” Jon chastised.

“Ry, I thought I lost you,” Brendon pants as he comes up beside him, placing a gloved hand on the back of Ryan’s cold and stiff neck.

“Sorry, I just had to change weapons,” Ryan says, and easily runs another kilometer with Jon by his side, and Brendon breathlessly tagging along behind.

“Wait, wait, guys, where’s Spencer?” Brendon asks, stopping to catch his breath, bending over and bracing himself with his palms on his knees.

“He’s human, he might as well be dead,” Jon deadpans, and Brendon cringes, because well, he’s human too. Soon his oxygen is going to run out when there are no more hydrogen and oxide molecules to fuse, food scarcity is going to be a problem, and if he gets shot, he’s as good as dead. The only reason he’s still alive is that he’s got Jon and Ryan as human shields to keep him alive. But once that Niridium runs out, it’s game over for the three of them.

They bypass the security checkpoint and grab as many weapons as they can, slotting some into their holsters and hooking others into belt loops. They re-emerge from the chamber, only to be met with two reptilian looking monsters.

“No, not the fucking lizards!” Brendon shrieks, and hides behind Jon.

The reptilians appear to be peaceful though, for they do not have their weapons drawn. They approach the New Humans, and Regular Human, though the slits they call their eyes are trained only on the warm-blooded body. One of them makes an attempt to seize Brendon, but Ryan intercepts their scaly arm and barks, “Hey, he’s off-limits.”

“If you don’t hand us the human, we will shoot you,” the other lizard says, a claw resting on the weapon hanging off one of their bony spikes at waist-level.

“Why do you want him anyway?” Jon huffs, feeling inferior. “If you should want a species, it should be us, the New Humans. After all, we _are_ more evolved.”

“That may be so, but only the OG humans still have the ability to reproduce,” the first lizard explains, and the second continues, “We need his seed.”

Three jaws drop open.

“Wait, so you’re telling us that all you need are human sperms?” Ryan frowns.

“Yes, just one load is sufficient. So hand him over and we’ll do all the work.”

“Okay, I’m just going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Ryan mutters, trying to block out the image of a scaly reptilian claw handling his boyfriend’s nether regions.

“Then why did you shoot the other humans? That doesn’t make any sense!” Jon exclaims in disbelief.

“They started it first. I believe they were trying to help your evolved kind,” one of the reptilians shrugged. “All we wanted was a load of their seed. We even asked nicely, but we were met with gunfire.”

Cautiously, Brendon comes forward to face the reptilians. “You mean, like, you want me to masturbate and give you a sample now?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

“WAIT!” Ryan shouts, halting Brendon in mid-movement, where he was going to drop his pants on the spot.

“Uh, can I make a phone call?” Ryan excuses himself, and pulls out an object reminiscent of a compact mirror.

He only has one shot at this, and it’s going to use up all his Niridium, but he has to do it. He’s saving it for emergencies only, and this situation has just proven itself to be one. He has to make the call.

“Hello?” a twenty-one year old Ryan answers his phone.

“Ryan? I need you to listen very carefully. The fate of the world depends on you now. I’m not going to go into the details, but you have something I need. You’re going to take that cup of fresh cum you’ve just ejaculated, I don’t care if it was for science or whatever, and you’re going to get it frozen. You get it preserved, and I know technology is advanced enough to preserve it forever. Then you’re going to keep it with you at all times. Don’t lose it. Because the fate of your world depends on it. You’re going to meet someone named Brendon, and he’s going to be your world.”

“What the fuck? I’m not gay!” Past-Ryan shrieks and hangs up.

Oh well. There goes his Niridium.

Brendon smirks at Ryan and simpers, “So, I’m your world, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah, now get those pants off, I’ll help you.”


	30. Oh, So Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 30 of NaNoWriMo 2020.  
> Prompt: Write a paragraph starting with this sentence, without mentioning the sky or water, “As blue as…”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a paragraph. Or two.
> 
> Enjoy.

As blue as the sapphire that they had just stolen the night before, Jon sits at the back of the van, looking out at the open road. The sun is shining brightly into his eyes, and the hand that’s not shielding the rays is holding onto a blue gem, glistening and twinkling in the natural light. It looks ethereal, and he’s mesmerized by the stone. He turns back and goes over the features of his friends’ sleeping faces, and a wave of guilt washes upon him. He should have never asked them to join him. It’s his problem to fix, not theirs. He has to do it alone.

He looks back over his shoulder one final time, before getting up and walking until he becomes a mirage in the desert.


	31. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My reflections, and confessions.

Wow, what a journey it has been.

First off, if you’re still here, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for your dedication. Also, I apologize for putting you through thirty stories that show you just how nonsensical my brain can be. And dang, I went back and found a lot of spelling mistakes (I think I might be a little bit dyslexic), so I’m sorry for putting you through that too. All of these were written in a span of a few hours, with no proof-reading, because I was aiming to post one a day. I’m a perfectionist, and let me tell you, I spent more than a month tweaking  _ Edu(gay)tion _ before I finally decide to say “that’s enough” and post it.

I started this as a challenge to myself, and to motivate myself to write more. It has been a success as much as it has been a failure.

On October 31st, I picked out all the prompts and I dived in on November 1st. Yeah, it was rather spontaneous, but I had no reason for experiencing writer’s block. I had all the prompts ready and I deliberately chose the easier ones; it was going to be a breeze. Except for what I experienced was much worse than that. It was my life. My reality. I had no work-life balance, and it was always just work work work all the time. On some days, writing became a chore for me. On other days, words just flowed out of me. I guess you can view my writing the same way you would view my mood. Honestly, I write better quality stories when I’m hurting. Especially if I’m hurting.

I guess it’s also pretty crazy for me to suddenly jump in and force myself to write something everyday, especially since I had not been writing much for months before that. I have so many half-written stories that it’s depressing for me to even look at them. It’s disappointing, because I’ll start something, and then never finish it. I hate that. I’ve been writing since 2008. Fun fact: I’ve actually posted other (straight OTP) stories on fanfiction.net (that’s where I started) but I deleted that account because I thought all that I’ve written were embarrassing. Then I met my best friend in 2013 and she coaxed me over to the dark side. I moved on to shipping males with other males and I’ve never gone back. I’ve also discovered my sexuality in the process.

Finally I’ve completed this, although it’s one month overdue, but hey, at least I finished it. And I’m so damn proud of myself.

In the next year, I want to review all those half-baked stories I have (some I started since 2012, can you believe it?), and turn them into something concrete. My brain just keeps getting inspired by idea after idea and I feel so overwhelmed that I can’t keep up with constructing them into a work of fiction. Well, baby steps. As a matter of fact, I’ve been consistently working on a particular AU for at least a few years now, and I’d really like to complete it and share it with you here. One at a time.

Thank you once again for your time, and your patience. I hope that you’ve enjoyed the ride and you’re not going to get off asking for refunds (because that would suck), and I really hope to see you again when I make my next post. With the new year, comes new challenges. I promise myself that I’m going to stay strong, and come out triumphant at the end. 

Happy New Year! Thanks for being here with me till the end <3


End file.
